Alone's the Last Place
by deepfriedcake
Summary: Six months after "Partings," Lorelai crafts a heartfelt gift for Luke.
1. The End - The Beginning

**New Note:** I continue to have a real fondness for this story. It's sad, but it really is a good type of sad that leads you back to happy. Give this one a try, even if angst isn't usually your thing! Thanks, DFC.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I've been sitting on this story for awhile now. It's set 6 months after 'Partings' and it's sad. We're talking a 5-handkerchief rating here, folks. Sometimes sad can be good, you know. Sometimes you have to go through sad to get to happy again. This story came from listening to Brandi Carlile's "What Can I Say?" about a thousand times, and once the story was in my head the only way to exorcise it was to write it down. Even though this may not be in my usual style, you know how much I love Lorelai and Luke and that I'll get them through to a hopefully happier ending. (And just to be clear, there's no France and no Christopher.)

* * *

**What Can I Say?**

**By Brandi Carlile**

_Look to the clock on the wall,_  
_Hands hardly moving at all._  
_Can't stand the state that I'm in_  
_Sometimes it feels like the walls closing in._  
_Oh, Lord, what can I say?_  
_I'm so sad since you went away._  
_Time, time ticking on me,_  
_Alone is the last place I wanted to be._  
_Lord, what can I say? _

_Oh, Lord, what can I say?_

* * *

The night was falling apart on her.

Lorelai rushed into the house in a panic, throwing down her purse and yanking off her coat, gloves, scarf, and hat, letting them stay where they fell on the floor. She scurried into the living room where all of the paraphernalia involved in her year-long project rested on a card table by the couch. She had to finish it tonight. She had to execute it tonight.

She quickly glanced at the clock, confirming it was nearly ten. Her plan had been to spend the entire evening massaging the final details, but stupid Tobin and his stupid bout of food poisoning had thrown off her carefully crafted schedule. She'd had to stay at the Dragonfly until Mollie could run her son to her mother's house and come back to work Tobin's shift.

Grabbing the back of the folding chair for support, she looked down at the odds and ends scattered everywhere, trying to get her mind to settle down and catalog the steps that needed yet to be taken.

Fortunately, the book itself was complete. She let her hand rest on the cover for a moment, letting a glow of pride wash over her. She had no illusions that she was in any way a crafty person, especially when a Bedazzler wasn't being used, but this had turned out better than she'd even hoped. She was incredibly pleased. She hoped he would be, too.

As for the words inside, well, she'd done her best. Spoken words she was intimate with, they soothed her soul and she loved making them dance and do her bidding. But writing them down, that had never been her thing. She thought about them too much, changing her mind and scratching them out, always too worried about how they looked on the page, mindful that without her voice and face giving them direction they fell short of the meaning she wished them to convey. Written words had always been Rory's forte, but Rory had been avoiding her mother's sadness as much as possible, and Lorelai wouldn't have asked for her help with this, in any case.

So…the book was done. She had everything she needed to wrap it up and deliver it. The only thing left was the letter. The hardest part. The part where she would attempt to use those written-down words to explain why.

She sighed. Time was running out. She had to get this done.

Clearing a spot on the cluttered table, she sat down, leaning under it to retrieve a plastic bag from an office supply store. She pulled out a box of ivory stationery, plain and serious. There was no Garfield, no Hello Kitty, not even a smiley face. Sliding her thumb under the plastic lid, she popped the tape keeping it together and removed a sheet. From the bottom of the bag she took out a new pen bought especially for this crucial writing assignment. It wrote in solid blue ink, which she hoped would help to cement the seriousness of the message.

He'd know, right? When he saw there was no glitter, no purple ink, nothing scented, he'd understand, right?

The blank piece of paper staring up at her terrified her. Her brain ran screaming away from the task at hand. Every thought, every reason she'd had for doing this vanished. She could feel her heart pounding. The clock ticked loudly as her panic returned and despair pushed her out of the chair, fleeing to the kitchen.

She flicked on the light and started to pace, rubbing her arms with her hands as if she was freezing. Paul Anka eyed her warily, tucking his tail even further under his body to avoid her feet from where he laid close to the back door. He was used to his mistress acting this way now. He understood, on a doggy-level at least, that he was no longer the most neurotic being in their house. He looked up, startled, as Lorelai growled in frustration. Was she trying to talk to him?

"I've got to do this! I've got to do this!" She leaned against the sink, rubbing her forehead wearily. "Oh, Lord," she sighed, defeated, "how can I do this?"

She stared out the window for some minutes before her hand finally moved to open a cabinet.

Tequila. Her old pal.

She rummaged through another shelf and found a glass. Quickly she poured a shot and tossed it down, gasping as it burned through her. She pressed a hand over her heart, as the heat even managed to soothe the raw spot there.

Fortified, she returned to the card table, resolutely uncapping the pen and turning the paper to begin writing.

_'Dear Luke,'_ she wrote, without letting herself think, but the two words stared up at her and it was suddenly all too much, too painful, and tears rained down her face and sobs tore out of her chest, painfully reigniting the raw spot there that never left her. For the first time since that week in May she let herself fly apart. She let her head fall to the table and she cried. She cried for the love she'd lost and her own stupidity. She cried for the way she'd hurt him. She cried because in the end he hadn't loved her after all. She cried because she knew now that this was never going to get easier. He was always going to be in her heart, like a splinter you couldn't reach, and it was never going to heal. It was always going to hurt.

Finally the tears stopped, and breath painfully wheezed back into Lorelai's lungs. She sat up, scrubbing at her wet face with one hand and massaging her burning windpipe with the other. It hurt to breathe, but she needed the air, so she ignored the pain and gulped the oxygen down in small increments, her shoulders still shaking occasionally from the leftover sobs trying to come out.

She'd cried all over the fine piece of stationery, she saw with disgust. She crumpled it in her fist, throwing it down on the floor as she stood and headed back to the kitchen.

Lorelai marched to the counter. This had to get done. She was running out of time. There was no time for theatrics.

Mechanically she poured another drink, tossing it down. The burning sensation this time was nearly unbearable on her tear-roughened throat. For good measure she poured a little more, grasping the counter as she forced it down. She held onto the solid surface for some minutes, staring outside at the blackness, her mind for some reason remembering Rory's sixteenth birthday party and how she'd stood in this same spot, watching the bag boy give her precious girl that bracelet.

_And Luke brought ice_, she remembered. _Emily said he looked at me like a Porterhouse steak._

_That's fitting,_ she thought, snorting a bitter little laugh. _Luke might occasionally crave red meat, but he'd never actually allow some into his home._

OK, so the tequila was doing its job. She felt lighter. It was like she was starting to float up above the sadness. It was still there, inside her chest, but she felt like she could manage it now. She felt stronger.

This time, she didn't hesitate. A new piece of proper ivory paper was arranged on the table. The pen was scooped up from where it had fallen to the floor during her meltdown. Her shoulders were set, her lips determined. Ink rolled from the pen, and words started to fill the space.

'_To my Luke,'_ she wrote, and nodded. That's exactly what she wanted to say.

* * *

It was time.

Lorelai stood in the entry, putting back on her coat. She wound the scarf about her neck and pulled the pink knitted cap over her curls. As she tugged on her gloves, she looked at the plain brown paper shopping bag at her feet.

Inside was the carefully wrapped box containing the book. And inside the book, tucked between the last page and the cover, was the letter.

In the end, she hadn't really let herself think about what she was writing. She'd just opened her heart and let the words out that resided there. She hoped they were good enough.

She checked the clock again. It was a little past two. She needed to go.

She picked up the handles on the bag and opened the door, grimacing as the sharp November air seared her throat and chest. She put down the bag for a moment, rewinding her scarf so it was over her mouth and nose, giving herself a little bit of protection against the icy air.

Her spirits picked up as she started for the center of town. This was familiar, like her normal Wednesday nights. The leftover glow from the tequila didn't hurt, either. She was anxious to get to her destination and complete her task, but just as anxious to feel like a part of her town again.

During the day, she avoided the main street and all of its inhabitants as much as possible without looking like she was deliberately avoiding them. It was a fine line, and she worked it diligently, her face composed, her body held lightly, poised to say a brief word or two to those who acknowledged her. She never lingered, she never looked too far to the left or right. She no longer _fit_ there, the way she always had.

She missed it, that sense of ease, the way Stars Hollow had always felt like her own magic kingdom, taking her in and bathing her with benign acceptance and amusement.

Now there was harsh judgment and thinly-veiled sympathy, and she merely skirted through the streets, trying to salvage as much dignity as she could, trying not to let anyone see how damaged she was.

But at night, this was her time. The gossips and whispers and ex-lovers were asleep, and she could take her time, looking at the signs in Doose's windows at her leisure, sizing up the repair to the church steeple, admiring the new paint color on Miss Patty's studio. She could pretend she still belonged here, that this was still her town.

Tonight, however, strolling through town square was not her goal. Tonight her sights were set on the green Chevy pickup truck parked in the alley behind the diner.

Lorelai's shoes crunched on the gravel, and she endeavored to walk more cautiously. She stepped up onto the running board by the driver's side, grasping the back of the cab and leaning over far enough to pull back the tarp covering the truck's bed. She smiled smugly behind the scarf, seeing his gear already in place there. She knew it would be. She knew that he had his duffel bag and the cooler placed by the door upstairs, too, ready to go.

She swung the bag up over the side, folding over the top and nestling it between his tackle box and Bert, where she hoped it would ride safely but unnoticed until he reached the cabin. She tucked the tarp back over everything and prepared to back down.

Her foot slipped off the running board and she landed hard against the truck, her face pressed against the window. It was a small slip and she wasn't hurt, but the shock of it made her breathe hard. She let her gloved hand caress the truck door for a moment while her eyes raked over the interior. What she wouldn't give to be able to sit inside it for awhile, breathing in his presence, resting her head back on the seat for a moment. What a pleasure it would be to go through the glove box. What a joy to reset the buttons on the radio.

Lorelai had closed her eyes while she contemplated those wishes. To be honest, this wasn't the first time she'd molested his truck. On the nights she was feeling especially brave, she came back here and leaned against it. Some nights she even sat on the steps of the diner, letting her mind drift among all of her strong memories of the countless times she'd crossed the threshold, never dreaming that one day she'd be bereft of his coffee.

_And of him,_ her heart echoed_._

Pained, she opened her eyes and saw that her hot breath was fogging up the window.

A sudden playful impulse hit her from out of the tequila bottle, and she quickly drew 'LG + LD' in the haze, looping a heart around the letters, grinning at the result.

Now that her covert mission was over, and her year-long task was completed, her body started to relax. The nervous energy that had buoyed her up and kept her focused was oozing out of her, leaving her drained and exhausted. The tequila was making her drowsy, and the thought of having to walk back to her house was too daunting to consider.

Dragging herself out of the alley, she looked across the street at the gazebo, and tiredly decided that she could afford to sit there until some energy returned. She used the strength in her arms to pull herself up the railing, her legs stumbling on the steps. Gratefully she lowered herself down on the bench. She scrunched down until her head was resting on the back, and let her eyes go out of focus concentrating on the faint light coming from the clock on the stove in his kitchen.

* * *

The alarm nagged him out of sleep an hour earlier than normal. He slapped it off, forcing himself up, sitting tiredly on the edge of the bed for moment, rubbing his face in an effort to feel alert.

He hung his arms out over his knees, sighing, looking around the silent, dark apartment. He observed his stuff for the trip sitting by the door, his clothes already chosen for the day and laid over the chair.

_Well,_ he thought. _Might as well do it, then._

Luke was grateful, mostly, that he was a man with routines. He was grateful that he had a role in this town and that the town demanded that he play it. Those demands made it easier to get through each day, to do what needed to be done. He had a routine and a schedule, and as long as he didn't deviate from them, he could function.

Today those schedules and routines required him to go out of town and that's what he would do. It didn't really matter to him. The sadness would be there when he got there, just like it was here. The only difference would be that here he could keep his mind somewhat occupied with Kirk's weird culinary choices and Taylor's insane harpings on town protocol. There the sadness would hit him full force, with only the bare expanse of lake and sky in front of him.

He got dressed mechanically, his brain chiding himself on how lucky he was when he only had a dark _day_ to contend with.

"Just to prove that things always can get worse," he muttered, sitting down to put on his shoes.

Soon he was ready to go, having drunk his protein shake and packed the refrigerated food into the cooler. He pulled a sweatshirt on over his flannel, then zipped his old green coat over that. He put the still-strange black hat on his head, stuck his hands in his gloves, picked up his gear and left the apartment.

He made sure the back door to the diner was securely locked before striding to his truck and stowing his supplies under the tarp by the tailgate. He quickly got into the truck, starting it up and letting it idle for a few minutes. It was only early November, but it felt like winter today, the way he could see his breath in the cab. He rubbed his hands together, waiting for the ancient truck to warm up.

He put the truck in gear and slowly rolled out of the alley. It was still pitch black, and all of the streetlights and the ever-present twinkle lights coiled around the gazebo were shining against the darkness. As was his habit, Luke scanned the downtown area for anything amiss. He might gripe and rant against the silly town festivities and the crazy residents, but it was still his town and he was fiercely, if secretively, protective of it. So it was that he spotted what looked like a bag of something thrown on the bench of the gazebo.

He craned his neck to see better as his truck rumbled down the street in front of it. Had some of the high school kids pranked the town by leaving garbage there? Man, Taylor would have a cow!

A bad feeling started to cross his chest as he saw what he thought could be a foot sticking out. A homeless person? Did Stars Hollow have homeless people? Man, Taylor would have two cows!

He glanced down the road, then turned to gaze at the gazebo one more time, trying to allay his fears before he left town. That's when he caught just the tiniest hint of pink and his breath caught in his chest.

_Go on,_ he told himself. _Don't stop._ He forced his eyes straight ahead. He kept a grip on the steering wheel. He made his foot step down on the gas pedal, but in the end it didn't matter. He had to see; he had to check. He drove around the square and came to a stop in front of the walkway leading to the gazebo.

Leaving the truck running, he slowly got out and made his way to the steps.

He recognized the cowboy boot sticking out. He breathed in sharply before putting himself on autopilot.

The twinkle lights merrily lit up the bizarre scene. Lorelai was huddled into a frozen lump, her gloved hands folded under her arms, her autumn-colored scarf wrapped around her mouth, her ridiculous pink hat pulled over her curls.

Luke could see her shivering, even in her sleep.

"Lorelai," he said, roughly, the shape of her name hurting his throat as it came out. "Lorelai!" he tried again, this time louder. He prayed he wouldn't have to touch her.

Her eyes opened just a little and she raised her head slightly. Her scarf slipped from her face and she smiled a hint of a smile. "Luke," she murmured, her voice cracked and raspy.

Luke cleared his throat against the emotions clogging it and clenched his hands against his sides. "You need to go home," he told her in a harsh tone. "You've got to be freezing," he then added, gentler. "You can't stay here. Go home."

Still mostly asleep, she raised her head further and smiled her beautiful smile. "Oh, Luke," she said, wheezing the words out, "don't make me wake up yet. I'm having the nicest dream." She reached out and rubbed his arm before lying back down and drifting back off again.

He blinked down at her, breathing rapidly. Abruptly he turned and headed for the truck, not looking back. He climbed inside and sat hunched over the steering wheel, trying to get himself under control. He knew what he should do. _He knew._ And Luke Danes always did the right thing. He should take her home. Make sure she was safe and warm. Maybe make her coffee.

Tears were prickling his eyes and the back of his throat. He put the truck in gear and slowly pulled away down the street, keeping his eyes straight ahead. He was no longer brave enough or strong enough to do the right thing.

* * *

It had been a long, long 90 miles to get to the cabin his family had owned when he was a boy. His brain had screamed at him every mile to turn around, to go back and take care of Lorelai. But he couldn't do it. He just couldn't.

That didn't mean he wasn't worried sick, though. He'd contemplated calling half of the town, asking different residents to go check on her, trying to anticipate what each would make of his request. He'd finally settled on Lane, knowing that her love of Rory's mother and her innate good sense would keep her quiet. The decision was made for him, however, when he scrambled out of his truck in front of the cabin and found that his cell phone had no reception.

He cursed loudly in the faint morning light, slamming his hand flat against the truck door.

Well. He looked at his watch, then up at the sky. Someone would have found her by now, anyway. His bread guy, if no one else. Or Herb Petersen, who jogged through the square every single morning.

He tried not to think of what sort of frozen lump they might have found there. He'd call later, from the grocery story down the road by the marina. If something was wrong, they'd tell him then.

Luke took off the hat he still wasn't comfortable with and rubbed his head before slapping it back on. He looked over at the cabin.

He still thought of it as a cabin, anyway, although the people who'd bought it from them had enlarged it to the point that it was truly a house. The front still looked the same to him, even with a new blue door.

Slowly Luke made his way around the building, checking windows and the foundation, nodding, pleased at the upkeep. He saw that the stone grill his father had fashioned was still being used out back. The new owners had added a little storage building and apparently had tried their hand at gardening this year. He skirted the little plot with tangled, dead tomato vines as he continued his reconnaissance.

Once he was back at the front porch he climbed the steps to sit on the swing, looking out over the gray waters of the lake. The colors from the rising sun were just now starting to glow against the far edge.

He'd loved this place. As a boy, he'd thought this was heaven. He was even willing to share it with his pesky little sister. After his mother died this was the one place where he could find peace. Back in Stars Hollow he could see all of the places where his mother had suffered. Where she'd died. But here, every memory of her was happy. He missed her, sure, but it felt like he was closer to her up here. Like she was whispering to him to be happy while he was up here.

And then, his dad…It had hurt, when he and his dad decided to sell this place. But his dad was sick, really sick, and the doctor had kindly but bluntly let Luke know that this was it. At the time, Luke couldn't imagine coming up to the cabin without his dad. He couldn't foresee that a time would come that the memories would be soothing, not painful. And they really needed the money.

So they sold the place to a nice young couple. He did something incomprehensible with computers and they had money to spend. Money that they sent to Liz, so she could take care of Jess; money that paid off hospital bills; money that had eventually paid for diner renovations.

The place had such a hold on him, though. He couldn't shake it. Eventually, on one of the anniversaries of his dad's death, he drove back up here. It was a mild, beautiful fall, and to his surprise, the new owners were still at the cabin, enjoying one last weekend before winter. They remembered him and were proud to show him the upgrades they'd made, pleased to introduce him to their toddler son. That had brought tears to his eyes, and he'd gruffly told them about his dad, about how he'd built much of the cabin himself, about how hard it was to lose him.

From that visit had launched an arrangement where Luke was welcome to come to the cabin during this week every year, free to use anything of theirs that he wanted. He quickly countered that he would act as their handyman, fixing anything that needed it while he was here. Usually there wasn't much, but it made him feel useful and less like a mooch. Sometimes they left him a note with instructions, or pictures showing their kids with fishing poles.

He wondered why he'd never brought Lorelai up here, but quickly squashed the thought down. He'd bring April sometime, and tell her about the grandfather she'd never know.

_But not the stepmother she'd never have._

He forced himself up, heading down the stone steps to the pier. The old rowboat was beached on the shore, and he decided to find the oars and go out on the lake before he went into the house. He didn't feel like fishing. And he didn't feel like he deserved to be warm inside the house.

* * *

Lorelai had spent enough nights sleeping in the square that she had developed some sort of internal alarm clock, and right on cue, she woke up before the delivery truck rumbled to the diner's back door or Herb Petersen laced up his jogging shoes. She knew she was cold, maybe colder than she'd ever been, but she felt good. She smiled groggily while she tried to stumble down the gazebo's steps. Maybe she'd had a nice dream.

Holding her breath, she peeked down the alley and saw that his truck was gone. Smiling contentedly at his predictability, she slowly ambled home on her numbed feet, so pleased that she'd pulled it off.


	2. Memories - Apologies

From inside the walk-in cooler, Sookie heard porcelain coffee cups clinking together. "Raquel!" she shouted. "If that's you again, I swear I'm gonna start docking your pay for excessive coffee breakage!" She poked her head out to check to see if it was the young maid with the caffeine addiction that rivaled Lorelai's.

"Oh, it's you! Sorry! Carry on!" she giggled. "I mean, you're the boss. You can have as much coffee as you want!"

"Thanks," Lorelai replied, grateful that her voice didn't come out all gravelly and rough from her cracked throat. She tried again to pour the coffee without letting her shaking hands rattle the china.

Sookie's eyebrows came together in concern. "Here, let me," she ordered, pulling the cup away from Lorelai. Her eyes opened wide as she touched Lorelai's hands in the process. "Oh, sweetie, what did you do?" she implored, as she grasped Lorelai's hands in her own, rubbing them quickly and throwing her apron over them for good measure. "Did you go out and check on the horses again? You've got to stop doing that! We hired Stan to do maintenance partly because he loves horses and was willing to add that to his job duties! You don't need to run out there and check every other minute—especially without your coat! What were you thinking?"

Lorelai shook her head a little, closing her eyes and giving a weak laugh. Sookie was able to jump to conclusions better than anyone she knew, and lately, she'd been willing to let her believe whatever she wanted to about her. "I'm just so cold," she said helplessly. "I just can't seem to warm up."

Sookie's mother-mode popped out and she propelled Lorelai to a stool at the work table. In a minute a steaming bowl of beef barley soup was sitting in front of Lorelai, along with a hot croissant, a pat of butter melting on top. In two minutes, a hot cup of tea laced with extra honey and lemon was there, too.

Lorelai picked up the tea gratefully, letting the warmth permeate her cold hands. She took a sip, loving the way the heat soothed her raw throat. She cautiously took a small spoonful of the soup, appreciating the heat, but not able to really taste anything. For weeks everything had tasted like gruel. Not that she'd ever actually had gruel. But she'd always imagined that was how gruel tasted, all bland and grey, with sort of a school paste consistency.

Sookie watched the shivers still wracking Lorelai's shoulders. She grabbed the house phone on her desk and made a quick call. Soon Raquel appeared, bearing one of the extra blankets they used upstairs in the rooms. She looked shocked when Sookie took it from her and wrapped it around Lorelai, but the surprise faded out when Sookie indicated she could help herself to a cup of coffee.

"Thanks, Sook," Lorelai said to her nurturing friend while she tucked the blanket around her.

"You just stay right there until you get warm," Sookie told her firmly. "And from now until spring, you stay inside, you understand? Or we get a space heater for your office!"

"Mmm," Lorelai hummed, her eyes closed, and hoped that sounded like agreement. Her shivers were easing off as the warmth from the soup and the tea relaxed them. There was still the frozen, fiery spot in her chest that nothing could reach, but she felt so much better.

"Oh, crap! The cooler!" Sookie abruptly remembered she'd left the door to the cooler open and she scurried back to finish her interrupted task, leaving Lorelai to thaw out.

While Lorelai pushed the rest of the tasteless gruel down her sore throat, not wanting to hurt the feelings of her well-meaning friend, she wondered what Luke had thought of her surprise.

* * *

Up at the lake the sun was well and fully up and Luke was numb with the cold. He'd pulled the old boat down to the shore and through the thin skiff of ice that was forming along the edges. He'd rowed out to the eastern side of the lake to what had once been his favorite fishing spot, simply drifting silently once he'd reached it, contemplating mindlessly the myriad of changes this lake and his life had seen during the years.

Normally he'd think about his dad, mourning his too-early death, wishing that he'd had more time with him, letting the memories that he usually kept bottled up tight pour out onto this lake he'd loved. But today he'd start thinking about William Danes and end up picturing a frozen pink knitted cap, his hands gripping the oars so tightly they hurt. Finally he gave up and headed back to shore.

Getting back into his truck, he drove the meandering road that skirted the lake, turning right on the main road and following it to the small town a few miles away, parking in front of the ancient mom-and-pop grocery that was a permanent fixture of their summers here.

As he expected, he was able to get phone reception again. Shaking his head at his unquenchable need to check on her, he dialed the diner.

To his relief, Zach answered. Luke liked Zach. He was goofy but well-meaning, and totally devoted to Lane, but a lot of Zach's brain power was consumed by rock'n'roll, leaving him a bit fuzzy about everything else in life. Luke pretended he thought he'd forgotten to leave Caesar a reminder about ordering extra green beans for the Thanksgiving casseroles he'd be making in a few weeks.

After Zach assured Luke all was well on the green bean front, Luke asked, casually, "So, uh, what's the big gossip scoop this morning? Did I miss anything juicy?"

"Nah, it's really dull here today, Boss." Luke could hear Zach beating out some sort of rhythm against the phone. "Babette actually fell asleep at the table and knocked syrup all over the floor. But don't worry, we cleaned it up," Zach assured him quickly.

Luke took a deep breath in relief. She must be OK, then. Babette would be all over the news if Lorelai had been found frozen in town square. And even if everyone else in town would cut out their tongues rather than say her name to him, Zach would. He'd feel bad about it later, and Lane would chastise him, but he'd tell him without thinking. So it was OK. Everything was OK. He shut his eyes, grateful to be released from his worries.

He ended the conversation and went into the store, picking up the few extra perishables he needed for his stay. Soon he was back at the cabin, putting away the groceries he'd just purchased, as well as the contents from his cooler. He threw his duffel bag into the bedroom that had been his as a boy, and then spent a length of time wandering through the house, touching a piece of wood there, staring out at the lake there.

Eventually his stomach complained about being empty. He had planned on making some chicken on his dad's grill out back, but found he wasn't in the mood for that sort of meal at all. Instead he ate an apple while putting together a pot of chili. Memories flooded through him as his hands completed the tasks he'd watched his mother do in this kitchen hundreds of times. Well, this kitchen when it had been in its simpler state.

He let the chili simmer. He cleaned up the debris from the preparation before grabbing a beer and heading out to the enclosed side porch. Sinking down into a rocking chair, he gazed back out over the lake. Slowly, the absolute silence ate into his core. It was easier in Stars Hollow to ignore the loneliness that filled him. It was easier to ignore the constant ache of missing her. It was easier to pretend that it was all her fault and that he was the wronged party deserving of sympathy. He hunched his shoulders, pretending that he couldn't feel his parents' sorrowful eyes on him, shaking their heads at his blunders.

_You threw away love?_ He imagined his mother's voice, tinged with hurt and disbelief, the way it had been the one time she'd been called to school because he'd cheated on a spelling test._ Didn't you learn anything from us?_ his father added sadly, putting his arm around his wife and squeezing tightly. _Don't you know how precious time together is?_

The prickly feeling in his eyes and throat returned. Disgusted at himself, he gulped some beer and turned on the TV, soon finding a show with two greasy guys overhauling a car that held his attention enough to beat back the regrets pounding in his head.

The enticing smell of the chili finally woke him up several hours later. He was disoriented at first, wondering why he was watching a show about makeup and shopping, and why he was in a glass cage. His surroundings soon became clear, and he turned off the TV and slowly made his way into the kitchen, shaking the stiffness out that had settled into his joints during his unexpected nap.

Quickly he mixed up a pan of cornbread and put it in the oven. He fixed a small salad and ate it while waiting for the cornbread to bake. When it was ready he ladled a nice portion of the chili into a thick soup crock and sat down to enjoy it with another beer.

Dusk was falling by the time he finished. While he was doing his clean up duties he noticed that several of the handles on the lower kitchen cabinets were loose. He realized then that he hadn't brought in his toolbox.

Briskly he jogged out to the truck through the crisp air, reaching under the tarp for the old, heavy box of tools. His hand skimmed past the tackle box and pulled back, shocked, as it touched paper. Curious, he pulled back the tarp, his forehead wrinkling in confusion as he saw a shopping bag he had not placed there.

Slowly, he pulled the bag out, not knowing what to think. Eventually his brain said, _Well, open it up, stupid,_ so he did, and her scent wafted out ever so gently, clogging his throat and wrapping itself painfully around his chest.

Self-preservation took over his hands and he violently crushed the bag closed, keeping her scent inside as he took some deep breaths, trying to clear his head.

Well. At least now he knew why she'd been on the bench this morning.

He tucked the bag under his arm before grabbing the toolbox and returning to the house. His brain was in an uproar. He dropped the tools by the door and put the bag on the table, backing away from it cautiously, as if it had red LED numbers ticking away on it.

Nervously he turned his gaze back to the lake, as though it could tell him what to do if he just looked hard enough. Eventually enough time passed that he began to feel silly and he returned, determined, to the table.

Some crazy package from his ex-girlfriend, ex-fiancée, whatever the hell she was…

_Love of your life,_ his heart chimed in, helpfully.

...was not going to scare him so badly that he couldn't even open it.

Grimly, he sat down at the table and pulled open the bag. Her scent whirled up at him again, but this time he breathed it in deeply, letting his face push down into the bag. God, how he'd missed that scent. Warm, sweet vanilla, but something spicy, too, and just some sort of hint of something citrusy and tangy. He was never sure if the scent was a mixture of all of the different products she slathered on herself during the course of the day, or if it was Lorelai's body chemistry reacting with her perfume that made it so unique. All he knew was he'd never smelled the same scent on anyone else. As with so many other things associated with Lorelai, it was hers alone.

Slowly, he reached inside and pulled out a large, flat, rectangular box. He felt the smile bloom on his face; he couldn't help it. She'd wrapped it in actual flannel material, the blue and black plaid design reminding him of his favorite shirt.

His favorite because she'd worn it more than he had.

Carefully he untied the blue satin ribbon pulled over the flannel. He wondered if this was supposed to be a birthday present. His birthday was still some weeks away, but at least there would be an explanation for this. Cautiously he loosened the material away from the box, folding it carefully and putting it back into the bag. Finally, holding his breath, he pulled off the top of the box.

He smiled out in delight then, his head shaking from side to side slightly in disbelief. There, in front of him, was the diner.

He soon realized that the book itself was some sort of photo album or scrapbook, and the front cover had originally been made to look like a house, but Lorelai had altered it until it was the spitting image of his diner. The walls had been painted to look like gray stone. The steps leading up to the front door were there. The windows had blinds and the café curtains. 'Luke's' and the coffee cup were there. The 'Williams Hardware' sign was above the door. It was amazing, absolutely amazing, and he couldn't imagine how much time this had taken her.

With great care he lifted the album out of the box, placing it gently on the table in front of him.

Opening the cover, he saw that the first page was covered with all sorts of quotes and poems about home and family. He scanned over them quickly, then turned the page. And sucked in a deep breath to calm the huge wave of emotion that crashed over him.

The large picture in the middle of the page was his family, here, at the cabin. His mother sat on the steps outside, laughing. His mother had not been a beauty the way Lorelai was, but her eyes could sparkle and sing, and the way they lit up made her look vibrant, drawing people to her. She held an impossibly-tiny Lizzie in her lap, who looked a little confused about what was going on, her smooth blond hair held back from her face with miniscule bunny barrettes. Lizzie was maybe two, he judged, which would make him, the tanned, shyly smiling boy with knobby, scraped knees standing next to her, around four. His dad sat on the other side of him, his mouth open in a laugh, his hand on the top of Luke's head, as though he was afraid the boy would go running off if he wasn't held in place.

This picture was printed in black and white, although Luke seemed to remember it in color. The image was blurred around the edges. He recalled that his mother had kept it hanging just inside the door here at the cabin. It had been a lot of years since he'd seen it.

Several smaller images were scattered around the large one around the page. In the upper left corner he saw his father helping him flip burgers outside on the recently-completed grill. He was around seven, and even then his face was serious, set in the concentration of completing the task. Under it Lorelai had made a label stating, "Future diner owner in training!"

The picture under it, at the bottom of the page, showed him and his dad proudly showing off the fish they'd lured to their bait that day. It was hard to pinpoint exactly when it had been taken; there had been so many days like that.

Next he examined a picture he didn't remember at all. He was tucked up in a hammock out back with his mother, looking drowsy as she smiled and read him a story. He looked really small, and judging from the roundness of his mom, he guessed Lizzie was on her way. He rubbed his finger over the image for a moment, feeling his throat tighten.

He smiled wide, though, when he saw the last picture. This day he remembered in perfect clarity. It had been one of those long, long, "When are we going to get there?" rides in the car. It had been unbearably hot and humid, but his dad had gotten cranky and insisted they didn't need the air conditioning on. He and Lizzie had fought continually all the way here, poking at each other, griping, making life miserable for everyone. When they had finally, finally reached the cabin, he'd climbed out of the car, still sulky, and proclaimed that he was so hot he should just go jump in the lake right now. His mother, a sneaky grin on her face, had leaned down to his ear. "Do it!" she'd urged. She'd linked Lizzie's hand into his, and given them both a shove down towards the lake. They'd raced shrieking down the hill and onto the pier, the picture catching them just as they both launched themselves towards the water, their knees tucked up and arms held up over their heads. Luke remembered that when they'd surfaced, sputtering from the chill of the water, his parents had both been standing on the shore watching them, laughing themselves silly, his mom still clutching the camera she'd used to catch the shot. He shook his head a little, silently chuckling, remembering. That had been a good day.

With a small sigh he turned the page, and there were his parents on their wedding day. His dad looked handsome but very young in his suit and tie, a smug, pleased smile on his face. His arm was tightly around Luke's mom, who looked stylish and trim in a white satin dress, ('tea-length' he recalled from some forgotten conversation), her sandy curls hanging over her shoulders and a pleased smile of her own curving her lips. Happiness seemed to radiate out from them.

One of the smaller pictures showed his parents and Buddy and Maisie apparently on some sort of road trip, probably even before they were all married, judging by how young they all looked. The girls—and they were girls, in this shot—were practically holding each other up as they shrieked with laughter, headscarves and sunglasses covering their heads and faces. Buddy, wearing a fedora, was pointing off in the distance, looking confused, while his father appeared to be trying to refold a map, his lips pressed tightly together into a thin line. Luke recognized that look. It meant: I screwed up, and I know I screwed up, there's no need to rub it in. Luke wished he knew the story behind the picture.

Buddy and Maisie were in another picture on the page, this time dressed up and formally posed beside his parents, who were seated in a booth at Sniffy's. He wondered if it was taken when the restaurant first opened. Maisie held menus in her hand, and both she and Buddy looked nervous. His parents, on the other hand, looked delighted. His mother looked odd and exotic to him, wearing long dangly earrings and bright lipstick.

Two other pictures featured Mia and the old Independence Inn. In the upper picture, his dad was hammering something on the porch, while Mia's late husband, Rob, supervised. Mia and his mom stood watching, Mia holding a small boy in her arms. Luke assumed it was one of Mia's sons, until he looked closer and saw it was himself.

The other picture was an interior shot, obviously taken during some sort of dance being held there. He recognized the old dining room, even with all of the tables removed. It took some time, however, before he picked up on the fact that the couple in the center of the room were his parents, dancing close and oblivious to whatever else was going on. It made him smile to see them like that.

He sighed and pretended he didn't know what it felt like to waltz with the woman you loved.

Turning to the next page again brought a wave of sharp emotion. This time the subject was the home where he'd grown up. This time there were two main pictures on the page, both showing the front of their home.

The first was taken in the winter and he was helping his dad put up Christmas lights, while Lizzie stood by, so bundled up it was a miracle she was able to hold up a large, red bow, waiting for them to take it from her. The second shot was in the heat of summer, and he and his dad were painting the house.

That picture was sad, because they'd lost his mother by then. But yet, Luke grinned. He remembered that. His dad had said they couldn't head for the lake until the painting was finished, so Luke had cajoled some of his Little League buddies into coming by and helping, promising them cold bottles of soda from the cooler in the hardware store for their labor. He had grossly misjudged just how much soda young boys could drink, and his father had taken back his allowance for many weeks to come to cover the expense. But they had gotten to the lake quicker, so Luke still thought it was a winning deal.

One of the smaller pictures showed him proudly serving his mother breakfast in bed. It was Mother's Day, and his mom had just showed him how to make pancakes the week before, so that Sunday he'd gotten up extra early and mixed up a batch just for her. He knew now that they had been burned along the edges and still raw in the middle, but his mom gobbled them up like they were the best thing she'd ever eaten, praising him between every mouthful. He forcefully moved his eyes onto the next image before his mother could morph into Lorelai begging him to put more chocolate chips into her order of pancakes.

There he was up in the treehouse out back, Lizzie sitting next to him in the open doorway. He remembered as soon as the picture was taken he'd thrown a fit about Lizzie being up there, insisting it was for boys only. His mother had told him in her no-nonsense voice that if he didn't let Lizzie play up there, too, she'd put frilly curtains up in the windows and bring up Lizzie's tea set. That had effectively quelled that argument.

The last shot was of his room. He sat at his desk, concentrating hard on putting together a model of a rocket, one of the Apollo ones, he thought. He could see some of his other models displayed on the bookcase beside him, along with his best Hot Wheels cars and a few ribbons and trophies. He ruefully shook his head as he saw that part of a Star Trek poster was visible behind him. _There_ was mocking material.

Luke groaned when he turned the page. Here was stuff he could have done without. The page was covered with newspaper articles detailing his success playing high school athletics, along with the accompanying stiffly-posed team photos. There was a candid shot he liked though, of he and some of his friends collapsed against the garage after a furious game, the basketball resting between the feet of his old friend Denny.

He half-groaned, half-laughed in embarrassment when he saw the last three pictures on the page. In one he was dressed self-consciously in a tux, his hair looking unnaturally hardened by whatever gunk he was using at the time, a corsage box in his hand. Liz stood next to him, giggling uncontrollably as she held onto his arm. Her hair was swept to the side in a ponytail, dressed in hot pink leggings and a long, black and white striped top. In the next shot, he and Rachel sat on the couch, his arm around her shoulders, both of them with shocked looks on their faces. As he recalled, Liz had suddenly popped up and flashed the camera at them, admitting later that she had hoped they were doing something more than watching TV so she'd have some blackmail material on him.

He couldn't help but wonder, briefly, if it had cost Lorelai something to include that particular picture. She'd liked Rachel, sure, but he could also sense the insecurity whenever her name came up.

The last picture was one that made him scratch his head, because he could swear he'd never seen it before. He and his dad were working on his car, the hood was up and both of them had their shirts off. They looked hot and irritated, and annoyed that someone was taking their picture. Maybe the details would come to him later.

He shrugged, turning the page. "Whoa," he said, out loud, amazed.

It was an article from the Stars Hollow Gazette, profiling his dad opening the hardware store. If he had ever seen it, he'd completely forgotten it. There was a picture at the bottom of his dad standing proudly on the steps, his arms folded across the official "William's Hardware" apron he always wore while at the store. The story made mention of the fact that the church steeple had recently been repaired due to the generosity of his dad donating shingles and nails to the project. It also talked, in great detail, of the repairs his dad had made to the old building that now housed his business. Luke could almost hear his father's voice, telling that to the reporter.

Tucked down at the bottom of the page was a picture of himself, very young, being held securely by his indulgent dad, who was letting him try to push down the keys of the old, ancient cash register that still graced the counter at the diner.

Looking closer, Luke realized that the background of this page was made from old ads for the hardware store. There was even a ten-cents off coupon on a mop. Where had she found these things?

He couldn't wait to see what was next. Eagerly he turned the page.

This time, it was himself who stood on the steps of what was now the diner. His pose was nearly identical to that of his dad on the previous page, but where his dad displayed a proud smile, he had a scowl, his arms folded tightly across his chest. His hair was short, shorter than he'd ever remembered having it, and he appeared to be wearing some sort of polo shirt, an apron of his own tied around his body. It had taken awhile before he'd stumbled onto the comfortable-yet-practical flannel shirt and baseball cap combo. He glanced through the article. It sounded as though Taylor Doose himself had written it, "…as we hope this young man knows what he's doing, tearing apart an old, established business to flirt with the fickleness of the food trade."

_Yeah, I think I know what I was doing, Taylor,_ he thought, smugly.

There was only one other shot on the page, and it was a small, grainy image of he and Jess, the day that Jess appeared wearing an outfit mimicking his uncle's, right down to the backwards baseball cap. Luke snorted a little laugh. Damn those cell phone cameras.

He suddenly saw that this page was laid out on one of his old menus. He knew that Lorelai had stolen one a long time ago. It touched him that she would give it up for this.

So, what was next? He couldn't wait to see.

He turned the page and instantly shut his eyes tight against the sudden pain tearing through him. Abruptly he pushed away from the table, heading for the sanctuary of the glassed-in porch. He leaned against the glass, watching the moonlight on the water until he felt the pressure from those pesky tears dissipate.

_Come on, man up,_ he encouraged himself. _She was brave enough to do this. You can be brave enough to look at it._ With a sigh he headed back to the table, dropping heavily onto the chair and slowly bringing his eyes back to the pictures.

It was the Rory page. Good God, how he missed that girl. He understood completely how some daughters had their fathers wrapped around their little fingers, because that was how he had been with her since the first time he saw her. Rory had filled him with a fierce, protective sort of love right from the beginning. While he was still so annoyed with Lorelai that he wanted to strangle her, he was proud that Rory counted him as her friend.

Rory had been into the diner several times since the breakup, but it had been awkward and tense. Usually she'd come by to see Lane, only giving him a sad, "See ya later, Luke," as she left. Once or twice she'd looked like she really wanted to say something to him, but he didn't know how to encourage her, and she'd given him a half-hearted smile and a wave of her hand as she went out the door. Of all the million regrets he had about the way things turned out, losing Rory was right up there at the top.

The large, middle picture on the page showed them at her graduation from Chilton. He was so proud of her that day. He could still hear parts of her speech in his head, especially what she said about the town and Lorelai. He wasn't ashamed he'd cried. He'd just been so moved that she'd recognized how much Lorelai had sacrificed for her.

Later, Lorelai had insisted on a picture of the two of them. They'd stood together in their normal, awkward pose, until Lorelai had said something ridiculous, as usual, and Rory had reared back, laughing, losing her cap in the process, and Lorelai had captured the shot just as Rory leaned her head against his shoulder, still laughing, and he himself was smiling broadly, his hand squeezing Rory against his side.

He could still see Lorelai standing there in that red lace dress with that saucy smile on her face, igniting his desire to see just how many layers were underneath that flouncy skirt. What would have happened, if instead of coyly asking her if he should go on that cruise with Nicole, if he'd just spelled it out for her instead? What if he'd said, plainly, "Lorelai, I don't want to go on a trip with Nicole. I want to go on a trip with you. Or stay home with you. Or do anything with you. Do _everything_ with you, for that matter. So you go on to Europe, and when you come home, I'll be here waiting for you." By the time she got back, would she have wrapped her mind around that idea? The jealousy she displayed about Nicole had always made him think she might have been receptive to it. But as usual, he'd stayed stoically quiet, and waited.

One of the smaller shots showed Rory back in the diner's kitchen with him, flour liberally dusting her face. She'd been terrified of failing home ec., and he'd offered her a lesson about making pie dough one day after school. She was by no means a natural, but slowly she'd gotten the hang of rolling out the dough and fitting it in the pie pan. Things had been going really well until Lorelai snuck back into the kitchen and surprised them by taking this shot. The split second after the flash went off Rory had shrieked and jumped, and all three of them ended up covered in flour and dough. She'd passed home ec., though.

To the right there was a picture of Rory sitting on the counter, some award grasped in her hands, while he leaned on his elbows beside her, smiling proudly. But there was a look in his eye that told Lorelai how much he didn't want to have his picture taken. But as usual, look who got their way.

The last picture blew him away. He had on a dress shirt and a tie, his hair long and shaggy down his neck, curling the way it always did when it got too long. He grimaced, looking at the mustache he'd sported for a while. His hands were clasped reverently in front of him. Beside him a very young Rory dressed in angel wings grasped a small box, her sad mouth drooping in that pout that got her anything she wanted. (The pout her mother had taught her.) It was that blasted caterpillar funeral. The event that started it all. They day that he actually talked to Lorelai, and she talked to him instead of teasing. The day he figured out that it was a lot more than just lust.

He couldn't believe that she'd had this picture for all of these years and had never tortured him with it, or used it for collateral to get something she wanted. The thought whirled through his head that the day must have meant something to Lorelai, too, for her to have kept this picture quietly to herself.

With a sigh he turned the page.

This page was for April. The shots were all taken during the 15-minute period of grace when they thought everything was going to work out for them, during the thrown-together birthday party. With a jolt to his system, Luke realized that those were the only possible photos Lorelai could have, since that was the only time she'd been around April.

Luke shook his head. Man, when he screwed up, he really screwed up.

The main photo showed April with her arms around his neck, thanking him for her wonderful party, for not embarrassing her in front of her friends, looking truly happy and relaxed. There was a ribbon under the picture stating "Fathers and Daughters" and that was just what the scene looked like, just a father and a daughter, happy to be together. Only Luke knew that the expression on his face, that grateful, adoring look, was aimed at the person taking the picture and not at the new teenager next to him.

There was another shot showing April clad in one of the diner aprons, taking several plates of food from him behind the counter. She'd begged to be allowed to help serve her friends that night, and had tormented him by talking only in the diner lingo that Lorelai had quickly taught her.

Other pictures showed April and her friends dancing, Luke standing in the background, his arms folded across his chest, but smiling at their antics. Another showed April up against the screen, the movie images playing across her, as she pointed mischievously at something happening there.

He noticed then that up in the right hand corner of the page, Lorelai had stamped a little "Don't Forget!" reminder symbol of a hand with a string tied around one finger. Next to it was a tiny picture of what even he knew was a Barbie.

That conversation flooded back to him in a moment, Lorelai agonizing over her strained relationship with her father while they sped to the hospital where Richard Gilmore had been taken. His jaw tensed, still hearing the quiet acceptance in Lorelai's voice, "How disappointed he must have been to get me." How could any parent make their child feel like that? "You'd be a good father," she'd told him. "You'd buy your daughter a Barbie."

He blinked; drew in a breath. April was probably too old for Barbies, wasn't she? Besides, she'd mentioned one time that she'd been a weird little girl, preferring Legos over dolls. It didn't matter. He understood what Lorelai meant. He'd find out whatever April's heart's desire was, and get it for her. Better yet, they'd go out together to get it. She'd know that her dad wasn't ever disappointed in her. He wouldn't forget.

Once again eager to see what was next, he turned the page. But that page, and the few that remained in the album, were blank. Only a pink post-it note adorned it. 'For future good times,' it said.

_Yeah, right,_ he thought, skeptically. _How can there be good times without you?_

He tried to get past the let-down feeling that there wasn't more to the album. It had been amazing, and he still couldn't believe that Lorelai had disciplined herself enough to finish such a detailed-oriented project. Follow-through normally wasn't her strong suit. The fact that she had done it for him … well, that was something.

Luke picked up the book to shut it, so he could go back to the beginning and appreciate it all over again, this time taking more time to soak in all of the little details she'd added to each page. When he moved the scrapbook, an envelope fell to the floor.

His heart started beating fast as he picked it up. Nothing was written on it; not even his name. He laid the album down and held the envelope in both hands, dying to open it, dying to pretend he hadn't even seen it. He held it for several long moments, his breath quickening.

"Damn it, Lorelai!" he finally muttered, and ripped it open.

_'To My Luke,'_ he read, and everything inside of him shut down.

He pressed his hand flat against the pale, dull paper, obscuring the words she'd labored to put there, using his other hand to cradle his forehead, rubbing it slightly. Could he do this? Could he read whatever she'd written down on this generic, cartoon-free paper? It didn't look like her anymore, what if it didn't even sound like her? Could he do it?

Well, how could he not? It was just like Lorelai, waiting there right in front of him, taunting him, tantalizing him, luring him into crashing against the rocks. How could he not read her words?

Bravely, nervously, he spread the pages smooth and began to read.

_'To My Luke,_

_I hope you're not mad at me. At least, not madder than what you already are._

_I hated so much that you had this huge, sad thing inside of you and that I couldn't help make it go away. That's what I do, you know? I make jokes and talk fast and flirt, and I make the sadness go sit in the corner. But with you, that didn't work, and I hated that._

_So about a year ago, I got this idea to put together this book for you. We had a bunch of scrapbookers at the Dragonfly, and as I talked to them, and saw the variety of things they were doing, it looked like it might be just the thing I was looking for to put a smile back on your face. I wanted you to remember that even though you were carrying around this painful part, you also had this other place that was happy inside of you._

_Here's the funny part, though. While I was working on this, and looking at all of the pictures of you and Liz growing up, I realized that this was what I wanted. Not just 'a' happy family. 'Your' happy family. I wanted in. I wanted to be a part of all of your memories, Luke. I wanted your family. I wanted it so badly I couldn't stand it. I didn't care what shape it took. It could be you and me, or you, me and Rory, or you, me, Rory and April, or you, me, Rory, April, Jess, Liz, TJ, and even a couple of rugrats of our own. I didn't care. The details didn't concern me. As long as it was you and me, I didn't care about the rest. I didn't care about where we lived, or who lived with us, or where we kept the coupons. I just needed us, together._

_Then it all started to go away. It was so close, Luke. Do you understand that? How it was almost at my fingertips, and then it got yanked away from me? The one thing I'd been longing for my whole life, and you were there, jumping up and down, saying, "Here, Lorelai, it's right here, just open your eyes and see it!" and then, just when I started to believe you and reached for it, trusting you, you laughed at me and said, "April Fool!"_

_(Huh. I just realized that works on a couple of levels.)_

_I was so crazy. Do you understand how crazy I was? I saw it slipping away, and I panicked. I was insane with the worry and the fear of losing you. I was out of my head with trying to figure out how to hang on. So that's why I pushed you. I knew it was crazy, I knew it was wrong, but I didn't know what else to do. I pushed, and you let go._

_You let go. Oh, God, Luke, you let me go. And I was falling, and falling, and falling, and so terrified. Everything I thought I knew, everything I depended on, had just been cut loose. There was nothing around me to hang on to. It was all slipping by me because I was falling so fast. It was like I was trapped in some nightmare, because this couldn't really be happening. You couldn't have really let me go. But you did. And all I could think of was how they always say that if you dream about falling and you hit the ground, you die._

_So I was terrified, and I reached out, and I grabbed the worst possible thing to stop my fall. Now I know I should have just hit the ground. That pain would have been so much better than the pain I live with everyday._

_I'm so sorry, Luke. I'm so, so sorry. No matter how long I live, please know that everyday I'm going to be thinking those same words. So sorry. I'm so sorry. On the day I die, that will still be what I'm thinking. Please know that._

_OK. So, got a little off track there, since I was supposed to be telling you about the scrapbook and why I made it for you._

_I know that right now you're sitting in your family's old cabin, and you're thinking your sad thoughts about your dad, and your mom, and maybe even a little about me. I know that the pictures in this scrapbook probably didn't do much against all of that sadness. I hate to think of you sitting there, so sad. I know this is weird, but it's me, so you should be used to weird. If it's too sad, and you need a friend, I'm still here, Luke. We have the history, after all, and I know you. I get you. There are probably hundreds of people you would rather see than me, but if you need someone, I'm here. I promise, I wouldn't read anything more into it than just you needing a friend to help ease a sad patch. So keep that in mind, OK?_

_I started this whole thing because I love you. I finished it because I love you._

_Now, if you know me at all, you probably know that I just spent the better part of the last half hour staring at this letter, trying to decide how to sign it, because even though I just told you I still love you, I'm worried about signing it 'love' and freaking you all out. So, Luke, here's the thing, and don't freak out: Even though my heart is broken into about a gazillion pieces, your name is still stamped on every single one of them. I love you, Luke._

_Be careful on your trip. Come back safe._

_Always,_

_Lorelai'_

For several long moments, Luke did nothing but stare at the loopy cursive letters spelling out her name. His hands moved on their own, pushing flat against the table, pushing him away. He stood up, feeling the tension that had built up throughout his body, and took the first real breath he'd allowed himself since he'd started reading the letter. He averted his head so as not to see the ivory pages, or the scrapbook full of memories, or the flannel that smelled like her. He walked away, as far away from it as he could possibly get inside the cabin. He'd read it again, of course. He'd read it again, and look through the scrapbook, and he'd even smell the flannel.

But not yet.


	3. Magic Soup - Welcome Home

**A/N:** I feel sad tonight, so here's a small sad chapter to add to the sad story. (Ha! I no longer remember what I was sad about at the time, so obviously things got better - just the way they will in this story, too, if you stick with it to the end!)

* * *

Luke only made it three days up at the cabin. He had become addicted to the scrapbook. He knew the letter by heart. And everywhere he looked he saw nothing but a pink knitted hat and brown curls. He heard her voice, in the same anguished tone from that night in May crying out to him, _"You let go! Oh, God, Luke, you let me go!"_ That was all he saw, and all he heard, and after three days of it he gave up and headed back to Stars Hollow.

Caesar and Lane both heard him come in through the back door and they each felt the need to rib him about not being able to stay away. He gave them some lame excuse about it being cold and lousy fishing, and quickly broke away to take his stuff upstairs. He hurried back down to the diner as fast as he could and pulled Lane aside.

"I need to talk to you a minute," he stated, and started walking back to the store room, trusting her to follow.

Lane grabbed Caesar's arm. "Oh, my God!" she whispered frantically. "He wants to talk to me! In private! That is _so_ not normal! What did I screw up?"

"It's hard to know with Luke," Caesar sympathized. "Especially now, you know? But you'd better be getting back there," he advised, and Lane raced down the back hallway.

Luke waited in the doorway until Lane passed through, then shut the door as he stepped in.

Lane's eyebrows arched nearly off of her face. "I'm in trouble, aren't I?" she asked fearfully.

"What? No, of course not!" Luke insisted, looking confused. He studied the store room, trying to find a way to start the conversation. Lane still looked doubtful. He cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable, and rubbed his palms on his jeans. "Uh, Lane, I need to ask you a question, but I need you to _not_ ask me why I'm asking, OK?"

"O-kay," she said, slowly.

"So. OK." He blew out a breath. "Um, when was the last time you saw Lorelai?"

The bewilderment was clearly evident on Lane's face. "Well, that's easy. This morning at Doose's."

Luke's face instantly relaxed in relief. "She's OK, then?"

"Well, yeah, I guess. I mean, she was shopping."

"OK. OK." Luke was nodding. "Yeah. Shopping's good. You're right."

Lane opened her mouth to ask a question, but then apparently remembered she wasn't supposed to ask. "So, can I go back to work?"

"Oh! Sure, sure, go on back. Thanks!" Luke scrambled over to open the door. Just as Lane reached the threshold he had another thought. "Hey, what was she buying?"

Lane turned a puzzled face up to him. "At Doose's?"

"Yeah. When you saw her this morning."

"Well…" Lane's forehead crinkled in concentration. "She had some canned soup," she recalled, appearing to mentally scan Lorelai's basket, "and some orange juice, and some, um…" She couldn't quite pull up what the other item had been.

"Ginger ale," Luke said, flatly.

"Yeah!" Lane agreed, pleased. "How did you know?"

"She's sick," he said, not really directing his comment to Lane.

"She's sick?" Lane repeated, trying to remember Lorelai's face more clearly from that morning.

"That's what she buys when she's sick," Luke said grimly. With a jolt he realized Lane was still standing there, looking at him with concern. "Thanks, Lane. Oh, and thanks for keeping things organized while I was gone. Your paycheck will have something extra in it this week."

"No problem, Luke," she said, grateful that whatever he was worried about didn't have anything to do with her.

Luke headed back, too, but not before grabbing the biggest container of chicken broth he had and a bag of rice. He had some soup to make.

* * *

Lorelai dragged her exhausted body from the Jeep and started the long, dark trek up to her front door. It was dark because the front porch light had expired sometime over the summer and she just hadn't bothered to replace it. She was exhausted because that was just her normal way of feeling anymore, apparently. During the day she was able to push it aside while she dealt with the hundreds of things needing her attention at the Dragonfly, but once those distractions were left behind her body let her know how close to the edge she was teetering.

While she slowly and cautiously climbed the unsteady steps, carefully avoiding the loose boards, she noticed a package at the door. Her brow furrowed, trying to remember the last time she'd ordered anything, but drew a blank.

Curious, she poked at the box, which contained a paper bag. And on the paper bag, just barely visible in the pale moonlight, was the 'Luke's' logo. Lorelai's body stiffened in utter shock as she registered it.

Now in a hurry she unlocked the door, flicking on the light inside and dropping her purse to the floor before turning back outside and picking up the precious package. She hip-checked the door closed and rushed to the kitchen, turning on lights as she went.

She sat the box down on the kitchen table and shed her coat and other outdoor paraphernalia on one of the chairs. She pounced on the bag, almost ripping it open in her haste to see what was inside. The large container of her favorite chicken and rice soup made her mouth water and her eyes tear up.

Time stood still for just a moment, as the twin thoughts of _'He made me soup!'_ and _'How did he know I was sick?'_ rushed through her head. Shaking off the distractions, she searched frantically through her messy kitchen for a saucepan and a big spoon, anxious to start the warming up process so she could get some of the miraculous soup into her mouth.

She bounced impatiently on the balls of her feet beside the stove, stirring the soup occasionally, sticking her finger in it until she deemed it sufficiently hot enough to eat. Her arms shook as she poured a serving hastily into a bowl. She dipped out a spoonful and blew on it, even as she moved over to sit at the table.

The first mouthful was heavenly. Her eyes slid closed as she savored it, marveling that she could actually taste the saltiness of the chicken broth. She didn't even bother picking out the round orange slices of carrots, that's how good it tasted. The warmth slid down her throat, seemingly putting a protective covering over the soreness that perpetually lurked there. The warmth from the next few spoonfuls spread over her chest, even helping to ease the constant pain from the rough patch over her heart.

She ate diligently, not stopping until she'd scraped the last grain of rice and drop of broth from the bowl. She sighed contentedly and looked over at the pot and the container still holding more soup, contemplating having another bowl. She felt full, however, and if she restrained herself from a second helping now, there'd be more for later. Maybe she could even make it stretch out for the rest of the week.

For a moment she let her head rest in her hand, her elbow propped up on the table, and just enjoyed the feeling of the food in her stomach and the soothing warmth that still spread across her chest. Paul Anka soon let her know that he'd like his dinner too, giving out a soft whimper over by his dish.

"OK, OK," she sighed, and reluctantly got up to pour some dog food into his dish and refill his water bowl.

She began the task of cleaning up and putting away the leftover soup and spied a piece of paper damply clinging to the container. Picking it off, she realized it was a ticket torn from his order pad. Holding her breath, she flipped it over.

_'It helped,'_ she saw, in his handwriting. _'Thanks. Luke.'_

It wasn't until her hands started shaking that she realized how long she'd been standing there, staring at those few words scrawled on the small piece of paper. Air whooshed back into her lungs, not as painfully as normal, and she turned around quickly, waving the note in the air, wanting to shriek and scream and show someone this second miracle. But there was no one there, except Paul Anka, and she couldn't think of anyone who really wanted to hear anything about the Luke-and-Lorelai drama anymore. So she walked over to the dog, and dropped down beside him, showing the ambivalent canine the note.

"Look Paul Anka," she said, scratching him behind his ears, which he appreciated. "He wrote me a note." She fluttered the piece of paper in front of him. "He made me soup. He said the scrapbook helped. What do you know, huh?" She gave him a quick hug before getting back on her feet and heading off to find the best place to store that precious piece of paper.

* * *

After lunchtime the next day, when things had slowed nearly to a standstill at the diner, Luke announced he needed to go run some errands, leaving Caesar in charge of the grill and Zach practicing air guitar with the mop.

Instead of errands, however, he drove directly to his sister's house. TJ had picked up a temporary position at a home improvement store in Litchfield, and Luke was looking forward to investigating how much Liz knew without his annoying brother-in-law being present.

He watched Liz waddle towards the door, her face breaking out into her open-mouth grin when she saw it was him.

"Bro!" She cried, throwing open the door and her arms around his neck. "You're back! Come in, come in, come in. Tell me all about the trip! Is the cabin still fabulous? Have they added on another bathroom? Aren't you back early?" Her questions trailed back behind her as she started for the kitchen and he followed her.

"Yeah, the place still looks great. They take good care of it," he admitted grudgingly, sitting down at the table. He watched as Liz automatically went about the steps to make tea. "How are you? Everything OK?"

"Everything's great!" she confirmed, setting out her selection of herbal teas for him to choose from. "Saw the doctor on Monday. I'm great, the baby's great, everything's just where it's supposed to be, so stop worrying, OK? I'm not your job. Let TJ worry!"

"You realize that just makes me worry more," he grumbled under his breath.

Liz laughed, her eyes squinting nearly shut in amusement. "I'll tell TJ you missed him."

Luke looked down at the table, but he was smiling. "Yeah, you do that."

"So, how's the old place?"

Luke shrugged slightly. "They built a storage shed. Plenty of room for all of the gear. Looks like they had a garden."

Liz frowned. "In those rocks? Where did they find room?"

"Over to the side. Between the grill and that line of pine trees."

"Oh." Liz nodded, picturing the spot in her mind. "You didn't stay long," she observed.

"It was cold," he said carelessly. "I just didn't feel like fishing."

Liz's eyes went wide and she hooted at that. "I never thought I'd hear that come out of your mouth!"

"Guess I'm just getting old. Don't like sitting in a cold boat in the middle of a cold lake anymore."

"Uh huh," she said, not buying it, getting up to take the steaming kettle off the stove. "I thought maybe there was another reason. Thought maybe you came back because of some dark brown curls and bright blue eyes," she needled him, pouring the hot water into their mugs.

"Liz," he growled warningly. "I've told you before to drop all that."

"But she…" Her bright expression turned to confusion. "I thought she … Oh, crap! Didn't she do it?"

"Do what?" He watched her closely.

"She was, I mean, I thought…" Liz ran a hand through her hair before plopping into her chair with a groan. "If she didn't do it, I shouldn't say anything," she said, sounding disappointed.

Luke dunked his teabag up and down a few times. "So you knew she was making the scrapbook," he confirmed.

Liz whipped up her head. "So she got it done? She gave it to you? Was it incredible, because I think it sounded incredible! Can I see it? Please?"

A smile struggled onto Luke's face in spite of his best efforts. Liz often had that effect on him. "I don't have it with me, but I'll show it to you sometime, sure."

"Oh," she sighed wistfully. "So she actually finished it. Good for her."

Luke strained his teabag and added a squirt of honey. "She came to you, huh? I figured that's where she got some of the pictures." He put effort into sounding calm, trying to act nonchalant, trying to act like this scrapbook thing had been nothing more than a little footnote to his trip.

"Yeah. Probably about a year ago." Liz looked thoughtful. "She told me what she wanted to do, and we talked about it, but her being her and me being me, nothing really happened except the talk. Then, just after Independence Day, when me and TJ came home for that break, she came over and talked to me again about it. Said she still wanted to do it, wanted to know if I'd still be willing to help her." Liz looked frankly up at Luke. "She said she wasn't sure if I would, after what all happened."

"Yeah," Luke said, feeling his face go stiff.

Liz reached out her hand and squeezed his. "I was mad at her, Bro, you know I was. She did a crappy thing. But it was pretty brave of her to come to me, don't you think? And I felt so bad for her, you know? It's hurting her so much, and she feels so sick about what she did. And you hurt her, too, you know!" She pointed a finger at him accusingly, her eyes suddenly snapping.

"Yeah," he agreed, the one word sounding choked.

"Anyway, I'm no saint myself, so why should I judge her? I mean, I did plenty of awful things before TJ straightened me out. I'm the expert on awful things." She paused, reflecting, before quickly moving on. "So tell me about it! Did she use the cabin pictures?"

Luke nodded, seeing the pages again in his head. "Did you give her the article about Dad opening the store?"

Liz was about to take a sip of her tea, but stopped at his question. "No! Where did she get that? You've got to show me!"

"I don't know where a lot of the stuff came from, if it didn't come from you," Luke admitted, "but I think I'd like to find out." He stopped to take a mouthful of tea from his mug, and started to plan out how to go about his investigation.

"You know," Liz mused, as he sorted his thoughts, "when the baby's old enough, we should take her up to the cabin, tell her about Dad. Oh! The baby and April! We should take 'em both! Maybe even Jess!"

Luke smiled at his easily-distracted sister. "That's a good idea," he agreed. Maybe it was time that he shared his sorrows and his joys. Keeping everything locked up inside hadn't gotten him anywhere. Maybe opening up would help him find what had been missing for so long.

They continued chatting amiably for quite some time, until Liz tried to stifle a yawn. "You need your nap," Luke said knowingly, instantly getting up to leave.

"Yeah, babies are exhausting," Liz unapologetically agreed.

Luke headed for the door, Liz trailing him. When Luke pulled the door open, Liz put her arms around him in a fierce hug.

"She still loves you, you know," she whispered into his ear.

Luke steeled himself against her words. "Yeah," he agreed, not adding anything else, keeping himself still.

In a low, serious tone, unusual for her, Liz continued. "I know you think if she did, then how could she hurt you like that? But Luke, her going to him that night, it really didn't have anything to do with you."

"Right," he snorted.

"No, really, Luke," she insisted. "I know. She did it to save herself. It's like in an emergency room, like on _ER_, you know? They bring in someone who's bleeding out and they have to give them a transfusion to save them. She was bleeding out, Luke. She had to do something." Liz bit her lip. "I know, Bro. Trust me."

There was a long pause while Luke did nothing but let Liz hold him. "Whatever you say," he finally mumbled.

She gave him a small pat on his back when she finally released him. He nodded briefly, acknowledging her attempt to help him, and headed down the steps.

"Do you still love her?" Liz impulsively asked his retreating back.

Her words brought him to a stop, and he paused a moment on the sidewalk, staring at his truck, wishing he was safely inside it, away from Liz and her insights and questions.

Without turning around, he said, "If I didn't, do you think it'd hurt this much?"

Not waiting for a reply, he held up his hand as a goodbye and hustled over to the sanctuary of the old green Chevy.


	4. Reconnecting

**New note: **Thanks so much to all of you who are reading this story and letting me know that you're into it, even with the sadness flowing through it. I promise you that the suffering will be worth it in the end! This chapter follows Luke as he continues his quest to understand, forgive, and heal.

* * *

_Did they put in a new bridge? When did they put in a new bridge?_ Luke's thoughts were confused when he observed the signs of recent roadwork on the way to Sniffy's the next afternoon. He was taking his normal shortcut down a back county road. Minutes later he was pulling into the parking lot, noting that it had a fresh coat of asphalt since the last time he'd visited. Walking up to the door, he saw that they'd installed new lights up over the front of the building and freshened the paint as well.

His eyes were still trying to adjust to the dimness inside the restaurant when he heard Maisie's distinctive voice growl out at him.

"Good Lord, look what the cat drug in. It's about time you got yourself here to visit."

Luke smiled and bent down to give the gray-haired woman a hug. "The place looks great. You and Buddy must have been working like crazy to get so much done around here."

She gave him an exasperated look but didn't respond, pushing him into a booth instead. "Buddy!" she yelled.

Buddy appeared, wiping his hands on a towel. "What?" he questioned, but then his eyes lit on Luke. They darted over to Maisie before he awkwardly leaned forward and clasped Luke on the shoulder. "It's good to see you, Luke. I'm gonna grab you a beer and bring over an appetizer I've been working on." With that, he was gone.

"I've been thinking about you," Maisie acknowledged gruffly. "I suppose you went up to the cabin, huh?"

"Yeah. I didn't stay too long, though." Luke clasped his hands together and figured he might as well just get it out. "Did Lorelai come to see you? Ask you for some pictures?"

"She did," Maisie nodded, watching his face. "You could have knocked me down with a feather, the day I looked up and saw her standing there. I told her she had a lot of nerve, coming here after what she did to you. I told her I was ashamed of myself, the way I'd misjudged her. I told her she was a shameless hussy, and that she wasn't welcome here."

"Geez, Maisie!" Luke groaned, wincing at her judgmental words.

"Well, I don't care! That's how I felt!" Maisie huffed. "I wanted her to know I was on your side and she couldn't just waltz back in here like nothing had changed! And then…ah, hell, Luke. I'm not sure how it happened, but the next thing I knew I was hugging her and both of us were crying like babies. I just couldn't stay mad at her, not with that broken look on her face, you know? So I hugged her and fed her and listened to her, and rustled up some pictures she could use. Did she do a good job with them?"

"She did a great job."

"The girl's still in love with you, you know," she stated bluntly. "Although why she is, after the crap you pulled, is beyond me."

"The crap I -" Luke bit himself off and tried to rein in his outrage.

'Oh, don't act all innocent with me," Maisie warned him. "I don't know how you thought you could pull it off, keeping Lorelai and this mythical daughter apart. What good was that going to do? You'd already promised Lorelai to make her a part of your life, but instead you shut her out! What the hell were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that I had the right to get to know my daughter after twelve years of being kept in the dark!"

"And you couldn't do that with Lorelai?"

Luke pressed his lips together and shook his head stubbornly. "You know what she's like. You know her personality. April would've latched onto her and I'd be relegated to the background somewhere."

"So I guess that's why you don't know Rory at all, huh?"

"What?"

"Well, obviously, if Lorelai's such a force of nature, surely her own daughter is under her spell. There's no way you'd have been able to get to know the girl."

"That's not the same thing at all!"

Maisie gave a snort of disgust. "Rory adores you. She made that clear the times she was here with the two of you. Somehow Lorelai was able to tamp down her blinding personality long enough for Rory to bond with you. You don't think she could have done the same thing with April?"

"That's not the point!" Luke fumed. "Besides, Anna didn't want her around April."

"Who gives a damn what Anna wanted? This is the woman who didn't care enough about her daughter to introduce the girl to her own father! If you ask me, Anna needed to have a good dose of court-ordered reality thrown her way!"

Luke clamped down on all of the angry words dying to fly loose. "Why are you being so hard on me?" he finally managed to get out, low and hurt.

He felt Maisie's hand on his arm, comforting him. "Because I understand how Lorelai felt, being cut out of your life. We haven't met April either, you know."

Luke felt a sick feeling spreading throughout him, that hopeless feeling that comes when you know you've done something wrong and there's no way out of it. "No," he said desperately, looking around frantically, trying to deny the truth jabbing him in the stomach. "No, that can't be true."

"Yeah, it is," Buddy agreed calmly, sitting down a bowl of something with melted cheese covering it. He added a plate of toasted circles of bread and a bottle of beer, then slid into the booth next to Luke. His clear eyes caught Luke's and wouldn't let them shy away. "You never brought her here."

"That hurt, Lucas," Maisie patted his arm, understanding that he felt awful. "We're practically her grandparents and we've never seen her. It makes it easier for us to understand how much that had to hurt Lorelai."

"We haven't seen _you_, either," Buddy added quietly, his eyes scrunched up a little bit in hurt. "You haven't been here since the spring. It's been really hard on Maisie. You know you're like one of our own," he reminded Luke gruffly.

"I'm sorry," Luke got out, his voice all hoarse. "I wanted to come. I really did. I've missed you. It's just, when I thought about coming, all I could think about was…" he trailed off, nodding towards the booth where he and Lorelai had sat on their first date.

"We would've helped you through that," Maisie reminded him. "It would have gotten easier. Not everything is an endurance challenge, you know, Lucas. It's OK to ask for some help sometimes."

"I'll bring April here the next time I have her. I promise. I want her to know you." He shook his head, acknowledging yet another thing he'd screwed up. "I feel like such an ass. I never meant to hurt you."

"We know that, Luke," Buddy told him. "It's just your way, to be so all-fired concentrated on one thing. It used to drive Will and Katie crazy. Your math grade would slip, so you'd zero in on that and then your chemistry grades would go down. You'd want to do better for your baseball team and the next thing you knew, Rachel was breaking up with you. You've never been good at seeing the big picture. Remember how fixated you were with the diner when you were first starting out? We practically had to come and kidnap you to get you away from it for even a few hours. Relax, Luke. You'll live longer," he added with a smile, pointing at himself.

"And let us in! Let us help!" Maisie admonished, rapping his arm smartly.

"I'll try," Luke promised, rubbing his arm.

"Well, start by trying this," Buddy suggested, pushing the warm bowl towards him.

Luke could taste artichokes and spinach and tomatoes along with the cheese that he imagined was already sending its cholesterol swimming towards his bloodstream. It was delicious, as per usual with any of Buddy's creations, but not really his ideal snack. "That's good," he agreed, popping the rest of the piece of bread into his mouth. "Did you make that for Lorelai?"

Buddy grinned. "No, but she'd love it, wouldn't she? If she shows up here again, I'll make her some with extra cheese on the top."

Against his better judgment, Luke found himself scooping up some more of the tasty spread on another round of bread. "So," he said, before he crunched into it, "tell me about the picture where it looked like you were on a trip with Mom and Dad."

Buddy laughed and Maisie absolutely hooted in glee. "That was more than a trip! That was a visit to Niagara Falls that nearly changed history!" She launched into the recollection with gusto, while Luke ate and drank and felt some warmth and comfort spread over him that had been missing for a long, long time.

* * *

The next day Luke was checking out at Doose's when he saw the man himself standing before a display of fruit punch, tweaking the jugs this way and that, trying to get the perfect placement. Knowing he'd probably regret it, Luke walked over to him anyway.

"Luke," Taylor nodded towards him, acknowledging his presence.

"Hey, Taylor, I was wondering what happened to all of the stuff that was on display at the Twickham house."

Taylor flicked a mildly interested glance at him. "Well, some of it's in storage, and some of it the Historical Society took over. Why?"

"No real reason," Luke said coolly. "I was just thinking about some things that might have happened in the town, you know, stores opening and stuff like that, and I was wondering if there were old copies of the newspaper stored somewhere, and I couldn't remember if there was some sort of display like that when the Twickham house was open."

Taylor gave a little huff of disapproval. "My, Luke, you certainly paid _oodles_ of attention to that enterprise, didn't you? Well, never mind. I'll tell you the same thing I told Lorelai when she asked. You'll need to go to the library for that information. They keep all of that on microfiche over there. Well, now it's digital, I suppose, but the old stuff, the historic stuff, that's on microfiche. Ask the librarian." He turned away as though dismissing Luke.

"Lorelai came to you?" Luke asked before he thought.

"Yes, Luke, she came to me," Taylor responded with an eye roll. "Make of that what you will."

Luke frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm sure you don't want _my_ opinion, Luke. Everyone knows you're an island unto yourself."

"Taylor," he growled in warning.

Taylor stepped closer to him, jutting his bearded face closer to Luke's than what felt comfortable, but Luke refused to step back.

"You damaged that girl, Luke!" he hissed.

"She's my daughter, Taylor! It's good I'm in her life!" he snapped back.

"I'm not talking about your _daughter_," Taylor sniffed, giving 'daughter' an inflection Luke didn't care for at all. "I'm talking about Lorelai! It's true she made me the butt of too many of her jokes, and I'm well aware of how she regarded me, but the woman was a dynamo and loyal to this town and its citizens beyond measure. I could count on her to support any endeavor! And now she's…she's…" He threw up his hands, unable to land on the precise words he wanted. "She's damaged! She's broken! _You_ broke her, Luke. It's your fault that this town is missing one of its vital links. You should have heeded the misgivings I had when the two of you first started dating. Of course, what do you care? What do you care if the town suffers?"

Before his anger could completely spill over, Luke propelled himself away from the world's most annoying man, squelching his childish desire to topple the fruit punch display as he went. He tore out the door and down the street, walking nearly to the outskirts of town before the blinding anger cleared from his eyes. Looking back at the distance he'd traveled, he sighed and reached into his pocket for his cell phone to call the diner and let them know he'd be longer than the few minutes it should have taken him to walk to the market and back.

* * *

After the run-in with Taylor, Luke tried to put aside his investigative pursuits concerning Lorelai's scrapbook, but the lure was too strong, and so it was that he found himself heading towards the library the next afternoon.

He passed Patty on the way, nodding hello as he went.

A sudden idea made him stop and whirl around.

"Hey, Patty?" he called out to her.

"Yes, dear?" She turned back to him, her purple cape swirling about her.

Luke was hesitant to pose the question. "By any chance, did you have a picture of me and my dad working on my car, maybe back when I was in high school?"

"I certainly did, Handsome," Patty confirmed in that voice of hers that made everything sound suggestive. "I think it shows in what high esteem I hold both you and Lorelai that I loaned it to her."

Luke nodded, mentally ticking off the origin of one more photo.

"So, did it work?" she asked huskily. When Luke didn't respond right away, she pressed on. "I mean, Lorelai's little project. Are you going to forgive the poor girl?"

"That's none of your business," he responded matter-of-factly, and turned to leave.

Patty caught his sleeve. "Maybe it's none of my business, Luke, but it matters to me." Her voice was firm and serious, lacking any of her trademarked innuendo. "I know you think we're all just a bunch of gossiping old biddies—and maybe we are—but that doesn't mean we don't care about you. You, and Lorelai and Rory, and Gypsy and Andrew, and even that new little clerk at Weston's and Sookie's sous chef. We care. You all feel like family, and we want you all to be happy."

Luke didn't indicate that he believed her explanation, but his eyebrow did quirk up a bit, hearing that the little blonde at Weston's and Manny were apparently an item.

"That's a story for another day," Patty said, sounding more like her usual lighthearted self for a moment. "But right now I just want to make sure that you know how much Lorelai still loves you."

"Well, Patty, she sure had a funny way of showing that, didn't she?" Luke said smartly.

Patty bit her lip and looked far off into the distance. Finally she turned her gaze to Luke again, her expression shrouded against something she'd unearthed in her memory. "I bet it felt like she was trying to kill you, didn't it?" He nodded curtly, and she continued. "Would you believe me if I said she was really trying to kill herself? Or at least that part of her that loved you?"

Luke made a noise that wasn't really a laugh and folded his arms over his chest. It was his turn now to look away at the distance. "That's funny because Liz said she did it to save herself."

She played with the fringe on her cape for a moment, contemplating how to explain what long experience had taught her. "Pain," she said, slowly, "real, true, severe pain, can make you do all sorts of things you never thought yourself capable of even thinking about, let alone putting into action. I think she wanted the pain to stop. I say this from my own experience, Luke, not because Lorelai's talked to me at all. There's always been something about Lorelai that's reminded me of myself. And I know what I would have done in her situation. I would have done anything to kill the pain. In fact," she added, suddenly brisk and business-like, "that's exactly what I did, once upon a time. And while it deadens the pain for a while, it also kills a part of yourself."

Luke looked into her honest eyes briefly, before glancing around at the empty streets on this gray afternoon. All of the Harvest Festival decorations were up, but they didn't help to dispel the dismal feeling while dead leaves swirled past them in the chilly breeze.

"Look, Luke, I can't help but feel that a lot of this could have been avoided if some of us had just spoken up. We all saw it brewing. It killed me to watch Lorelai get quieter and sadder everyday, but she kept saying it was all right, that you were coping, and soon things would be OK. I should have come to you. I should have told you," Patty said regretfully.

"Why didn't _she_?" Luke exploded.

Patty paused, watching his chest heave as he tried to rein himself back in. "I once saw the most amazing thing," she confided to him, as if she was starting a story, which made him look at her in disbelief. "This was before the two of you even started dating. Lorelai came into the diner one day and just sort of stood there for a while, this look of distress on her pretty face. You walked over to her, your arms all full of dirty dishes, and you said, 'What did your father say to get you so upset?' I remember it so well because you distinctly said 'your father,' not Emily, which we all would have expected. And she just sort of melted and you nudged her over to the counter and poured her some coffee, and in twenty minutes she was walking out the door without a care in the world." Patty stopped for an instant, taking in a deep breath. "When you have someone that tuned into you, it's hard to believe it just suddenly stops."

"So you're saying I should have known how unhappy she was?" Luke asked angrily.

Patty gave him a look that seemed to go right through him. "Are you sure you didn't?" she asked, somehow managing to sound like she wasn't judging him. She gave her shoulders a shrug underneath the cape and then turned and resumed her journey back to the dance studio, leaving Luke with his mouth open, trying to find the words to dispute her.

* * *

Luke sat in his darkened apartment that night after closing the diner, holding the phone in his hand, wishing the call he still needed to make was over and done with. The last two day had been unsettling, what with the conversations with Taylor and Miss Patty. He wasn't sure he could take one more person pointing out his faults to him.

The trip to the library had been brief, informative, and for once, angst-free. Ted Edwards' daughter, Cecily, who worked behind the circulation desk, had pointed him to the reference librarian. He was a man Luke knew by sight if not by name, since he drove into Stars Hollow everyday for work and apparently brought his lunch with him, never venturing into the diner or attending any town events. He listened attentively as Luke asked how one would go about researching Stars Hollow businesses, frowning slightly, and as soon as Luke finished, he asked, "Are you working on the same project as Rory Gilmore's mother?" Since that confirmed exactly what Luke wanted to know, he thanked the man for his time and headed back to the diner, keeping his head lowered to avoid any other Stars Hollow residents who might want to persuade him that what Lorelai did to him wasn't really that bad.

He heard the clock ticking over his thoughts, reminding him that the hour was getting later, and if he was going to call he needed to do it now. Muttering under his breath, he punched in the number.

Apparently she had caller I.D.

"Good evening, Lucas," Mia said when she answered the phone. "I was wondering when you were finally going to get around to calling me."

"Hi, Mia," he responded. "Yeah, sorry it's been a while."

"How have you been, dear boy?"

Something about the kindness in her voice short-circuited the filter in his brain. "Lonely," he heard himself say. "Sad."

There was a long pause before she responded, obviously surprised by his admission. "I'm sorry to hear that," she said gently. "I know this is a hard week for you."

"Yeah," he agreed, clamping down his desire to tell her that all of his weeks were hard, now.

The silence stretched out, while Mia waited to see if he'd offer anything more, but when he didn't, she dove right in.

"I suppose you're calling to see if I gave Lorelai some of the pictures she used."

"How did you…?"

"Maisie called me. I figured it was just a matter of time before you checked with me."

Luke then waited, but Mia didn't add anything else. He cleared his throat. "Well," he asked sarcastically, "aren't you going to tell me how much she still _looooves_ me?"

He heard her breathe in sharply over the phone. "I could," she said then said slowly, "but that really doesn't matter."

"It doesn't?"

"No," Mia said firmly. "I love Lorelai like a daughter, and you know that. But it doesn't matter if she still loves you or not, because you don't feel the same way. And that's perfectly fine, Luke. There's nothing in life that says you have to return that same feeling back. I love you and I love Lorelai, and I want both of you to be happy, but that's not a reason to expect that the two of you will ever feel the same way about each other. I hate it that Lorelai's hurt; I hate it that you're hurt. However, I understand and respect how you feel about it, Luke. There's no reason that you ever have to alter the way you feel about her. You're the only one who has to understand."

He let out his breath in a whoosh of relief. "You wanna let the rest of the town in on that?"

"Being rough on you, are they?" Mia asked sympathetically.

"Always," he muttered.

"Sometimes, things just aren't…" Mia hesitated for a moment, searching for a way to explain it. "Didn't you ever wonder why I didn't introduce you to Lorelai years ago?"

Nerves suddenly crawled across Luke's chest for no reason. "Sometimes," he admitted, fearing what he was going to hear.

"I mean, think about it. There you were, all young and handsome, and there she was, all quicksilver and gorgeous. Can you imagine the strength of will it took for me to lock away my matchmaking impulse? Especially since I adored you both and knew how much each of you longed for a family."

"So why didn't you then?" Luke asked, in spite of his apprehension.

"Because I didn't think it would work," Mia said bluntly. "You were too much alike."

A laugh of sheer disbelief escaped him. "Me and Lorelai? Alike? Are you kidding?"

"I'm quite serious," Mia assured him. "Both of you are stubborn and perpetually convinced that your way is the only correct way. Both of you lost your families young and carried that hurt around with you. Both of you are extremely cautious about who you let into your lives. Both of you are driven when it comes to doing the right thing and downright mulish about accomplishing your goals on your own. And neither of you," she added with a sigh, "truly believes that you deserve to be loved."

"That's not true," Luke muttered. "Rory loves Lorelai. She knows that." He paused just a moment and then said, even softer, "And you love me."

Mia sighed. "Yes, I do, dear, but I'm not talking about that kind of love. I'm talking about that once-in-lifetime, soul-mate type of love. There's something in each of you that stops you from thinking you can have it. Both of you always hold your breath, waiting for the hurt to come. Otherwise you would have been content with Rachel; you would have believed she was coming back to you. You probably even could have been happy with…Oh, dear, what was her name? Nikki?"

"Nicole," he muttered.

"Nicole," Mia agreed. "And Lorelai could have married Max, or she could have let Christopher into her life years ago. But she's just like you with that. She's distrustful with happiness. She thinks that as soon as she lets her guard down she's going to get hurt."

Luke's throat felt tight. He looked up at the ceiling and forced the words out, words that only Mia could coax out. "She let her guard down with me," he confessed. "And I hurt her," he added gruffly, feeling so ashamed.

"Yes, dear," Mia agreed, albeit with kindness. "But don't lose sight of the fact that she could have told you she was hurting. Don't think that it was all your fault simply because you're not a mind-reader."

He rubbed his fingers over his eyes, his other hand clutching the phone tightly. "I wouldn't have listened," he admitted raggedly. "She didn't really have to say anything. I knew. I knew, Mia. I just…I didn't want to know."

"Lorelai is often selfish, Lucas, which you well know. It's part of her charm, as strange as that sounds. How many times have you put things on hold for her? It wasn't unreasonable for you to ask for the same consideration from her. Lorelai is impatient. It was completely heartless of her to treat you the way she did."

Luke could suddenly see Lorelai's face, lit up with joy the night Rory came home. He could hear her telling him the good news, sharing it first with him while she bounced around the diner grabbing doughnuts for her prodigal daughter. She was filled with love and happiness that night, and he was already sick from lying to her.

"I hurt her, Mia," he said in a voice so low it was almost a whisper. "I really hurt her."

"You hurt each other, Luke," Mia said, still in her kindest and gentlest voice. "It just wasn't meant to be. Please don't be too hard on yourself or on her. You tried; you both tried. It just wasn't in the stars for it to work out."

His head and his heart felt like they had been hollowed out. His voice came out sounding just as hollow and lifeless. "Do you really believe that?"

He didn't notice that Mia sidestepped his question. "I believe that both of you are genuinely good people, and that neither of you intended to hurt the other the way you did. I believe that neither of you deserve the heartbreak you've been living with for the past six months. I believe that someday both of you will be happy again." She paused, briefly. "Do _you_ believe that?"

"I _want_ to," he said with a desperate yearning.

She sighed. "I'm so glad you called me, Lucas. Please call me again, in a week or so. Let me know how things are going for you, please? I've missed hearing from you."

He turned to look at the clock. "I'm sorry, I lost track of time. It's late. I'll let you go. I'll call again, I promise."

After hanging up the phone, Luke walked around the small apartment, irritation and anger slowly building up inside him until he wanted to throw things at the walls or run screaming through the town. He rubbed his hands over his head, confused about why he was feeling so conflicted. Mia had just told him exactly what he'd wanted to hear. She'd confirmed that he had every right to still be angry at Lorelai. She had told him there was nothing wrong in not wanting to forgive her. She had insisted that they were just not meant to be…

_Whack!_

Panting, Luke saw that he had snatched up the diner's ledger from where it rested on the table and had hurled it against the far wall. He leaned against the table, covering his eyes.

"No," he pledged fiercely to himself. "I'll _never_ believe that. Never."

No matter how much turmoil now surrounded his heart and his head, and even if he had fervently wished that he and Lorelai had never met on more than one occasion, he could never accept the idea that the two of them were doomed from the start. He refused to believe that they'd never had a chance.

If he believed that, there'd be nothing left of him at all.


	5. Getting Worse - Getting Better

Luke opened the diner's door the next morning after a mostly sleepless night, thankful that only a couple of guys who worked for Tom were waiting to get in. Any morning that started without Kirk as his first sight was a good one in his book. When he swung the door open for the two men to enter, a piece of paper fluttered to the top step.

He bent to grab the paper and recognized the Powerpuff Girls decorating the border. He shoved it into his back pocket so he could take the construction workers' orders. While he scribbled down what they wanted to eat he tried hard not to think about her once again outside during the cold night.

As soon as he retreated into the kitchen he pulled out the note and his confusion increased. It wasn't really a note at all, but more like random words scattered around the page. Lorelai's handwriting was always whimsical, but some of this looked more like lines and squiggles than actual words. He thought _'more than I deserved'_ might be one phrase, but the rest was completely undecipherable. He stared at it for a few more moments, trying to understand. Finally he shoved it back into his pocket with a shake of his head and set about making the food for his customers. Knowing Lorelai, it probably had something to do with some crazy show she was currently watching and he would never make the connection.

Anyway, he had work to do. He'd think about it later.

* * *

Across town at the Dragonfly, Sookie was deep into a mental conversation with a squash, willing it to tell her what dish it desired to be, when the phone beeped on her desk, totally ruining her concentration.

"Blast," she grumped, grabbing up the phone. She saw the call was coming from the front desk. "What can't you handle this time, Michel?" she fumed.

"You need to be up here. Now." Something about the urgency in his voice made her breath catch in her throat.

"Why? What's going on?"

"Just come." A small pause. "Please," he added, and it was that totally uncharacteristic, sincere 'please' that made her forget the squash and hustle to the front desk as fast as she could.

There she found Michel pacing, pressing his fingertips together, a frown creasing his brow that he never allowed to crease.

"Michel, what's wrong?"

He shook his head, indicating Lorelai's closed door with his shoulder. "She's…" he trailed off, tapping his forehead with his index finger. "Maybe she'll listen to you," he added helplessly.

Still confused, Sookie nonetheless went over to Lorelai's door, tapping on it lightly before opening it.

"Hey, Sweetie," she said brightly, poking her head into the office. "What's going on?"

Lorelai whirled around to face her and Sookie gasped at her friend's wild, glittery eyes and the two high spots of color on her pale, pale cheeks.

"Is it Danish Day?" Lorelai questioned, tilting her head as she regarded Sookie. Her voice came out wispy and hoarse. She licked her parched, chapped lips and watched with interest while Sookie approached her.

"Are you sick?" Sookie asked, not even trying to mask her concern.

"Nah, I'm fine," Lorelai croaked out, shaking her head. "Whoa," she then moaned, grabbing at her forehead. "You're swimming now," she informed Sookie, dipping her other hand back and forth to illustrate.

Sookie had reached her side and performed the international mother-sign of placing the back of her hand across Lorelai's forehead. She drew in a startled gasp when she felt the heat radiating out of Lorelai's skin.

"You are shakin' and bakin' in there, girl! You have a serious fever going on, Lorelai. What in the world are you doing here?" she scolded.

Lorelai looked totally confused. "Where else would I be?"

Sookie's quick eyes had been darting everywhere. She was starting to appreciate Michel's concern. Lorelai's clothing choices might be eclectic, but they were usually flattering. Today she had on dress slacks and an old Yale sweatshirt, and her hair; the hair that she fussed over and tamed daily, looked like she hadn't even tried to pull a brush through it. And there was just something about Lorelai's whole manner that made Sookie think she wasn't really focusing on anything, as she watched Lorelai dreamily sway from side to side.

Her worry ratcheted up several more degrees. "You know what? Let's get you over to the doctor, OK?" she suggested.

"Nah. I'm fine," Lorelai insisted again. She plopped down on her desk chair. "I finished the magic soup last night. I'm cured." She smiled drowsily, laying her head down on her desk.

"Uh huh," Sookie said in fake agreement, watching Lorelai struggling to breathe. "Unless that soup had penicillin mixed in, I don't think it cured you. Let's see if the doctor can find you something stronger."

"Magic soup." Lorelai closed her eyes, continuing to smile.

"Oh, man," Sookie muttered, cold fear beginning to flutter in her stomach. She snatched the bandana off of her head and started for the door, where Michel was anxiously hovering.

"She is sick, no?"

"She's very sick," Sookie confirmed. "You get her coat on and bring her to the front door. I'll leave word in the kitchen and pull the van around. It's probably nothing," she added, wanting to say something to comfort them both, "but we'll feel better after she sees the doctor."

Then she hustled back to the kitchen as fast as she could.

* * *

A few hours later, Dr. Allison briskly entered her office, where Lorelai and Sookie were waiting to hear her diagnosis. She smiled grimly.

"Well, Lorelai, congratulations, you have two impressive lungs full of pneumonia going on there."

Lorelai struggled to get her eyes to open. She pumped her fist in the air. "I rock!" came out in a gravelly whisper.

"Yes, if being very, very sick is your goal, you've done a marvelous job," the doctor confirmed. "Now, I've already given you an injection of antibiotics, and here," she added, finishing scribbling on her pad, "are your prescriptions. The nurse will go over with you how to take them. I'm just not sure..." She stopped and looked at Lorelai seriously over the tops of her reading glasses. "I'm not completely sure you should just go home."

Lorelai didn't seem to be truly focused on what the doctor was saying, so Sookie spoke up. "Why not?"

Dr. Allison nodded at Sookie, but continued to address Lorelai. "You're very dehydrated. You need to really push the fluids. You've dropped an alarming amount of weight since the last time I've seen you. I won't know for sure until I get your labs back, but I imagine that you're anemic as well. I'm really tempted to send you straight to the hospital. I'm just not sure letting you go home is the sensible thing to do."

Those words seemed to jolt Lorelai back into reality. "No hospital," she insisted emphatically. "Of course I can take care of myself. I'll be fine." She blinked at the tears beginning to form in her eyes. "Please let me stay home."

The doctor looked conflicted. "I'll give you one night," she finally agreed. "I'll look in on you tomorrow. We'll give the antibiotics 24 hours to work, get some fluids in you, and see how you are tomorrow."

Lorelai sighed with relief and collapsed back into her chair.

* * *

Not too much later, Sookie looked around the cataclysmic mess in Lorelai's bedroom with despair. She'd gotten Lorelai home, in her pajamas and into bed, and had enticed her into swallowing the first dose of her prescription antibiotics. Hopefully the drugs would start to do their damnedest against the pneumonia built up in her lungs. Tomorrow she'd come over and impose some order back into the house. The realization was creeping in that Lorelai had been ill for quite some time.

Sookie cleared off space on the bedside table, in order to line up a half-dozen water bottles and the prescription jars. She placed the phone within Lorelai's reach.

"OK, Sweetie, I think you're set," she tried to say cheerfully over the growing lump of doubt in her chest. Babysitting arrangements and Jacksons's schedule and a dozen other things few through her mind as she tried to figure out a way to rearrange her life so she could stay. She bowed her head, feeling guilty, when she couldn't come up with a way to make it work.

She sat down gingerly on the bed, pulling the covers up more securely over Lorelai's thin frame. "Remember to drink all that you can, OK? And if you need anything at all, you call me, or Babette. I'm going to take Paul Anka over to her and ask her to come check on you tonight, OK? I'll be back in the morning. You stay in bed and keep warm." She waited for a response. "Lorelai?"

"I'm fine," Lorelai repeated for probably the fiftieth time.

"You're not fine!" Sookie snapped, finally out of patience, her worry making her words sharp. "You're sick, and you've been sick for weeks! Why didn't you go to the doctor sooner?"

"Magic soup," Lorelai mumbled.

Sookie groaned and smacked herself on the forehead. "Not the magic soup thing again! Listen to me! You are sick! Do you understand? Do you understand how serious this is? I'm about ready to call Dr. Allison and tell her you need to go to the hospital after all."

That got Lorelai's attention. "No," she said, struggling to get up.

Sookie put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her back down. "Don't you even think about getting up! You stay right here, you understand?"

Lorelai shook her head weakly. "Can't," she groaned out. "It's Wednesday."

"What's the deal about Wednesday? That class you're taking? It's not happening tonight. You need to stay right here in bed. Do you need me to call the instructor for you?" She watched in concern when tears started to leak out of Lorelai's closed eyes. "Oh, Sweetie, what is it?"

Lorelai squeezed her eyes shut tightly, and then opened them to look up into the concerned face of her friend. "There's no class, Sookie. There was never a class. That was just something I let you think so I could have my night."

"Your night?"

"My wallow night."

"Wallow night? What are you…?" Sookie cast around in her mind desperately, trying to figure out what her friend meant. But there was really only one possible explanation. "You don't mean…that you're still…After all this time?"

Lorelai sighed, making her cough a little bit.

Sookie helped her to get a drink. "Tell me," she urged.

"Right after I…I lost Luke, I fell apart, you know? I thought…I _knew_ I'd go crazy if I kept on the way I was." Her words were halting because it was as hard to explain as it was to force them out of her thickened throat. "So I decided that I could probably handle one night. One night of craziness a week. Wednesdays for wallowing. Good alliteration."

"Oh, Lorelai," Sookie said, in sorrow for her friend.

"So on Wednesdays I do all the things I want to do the rest of the time but don't. I come home and I go through my Luke things." She trembled with the telling of her weakness. "I couldn't make a box, you know. Everything in this whole house reminded me of him in one way or another. But I've got a couple of notes. Most of them are things like, 'There's coffee in the kitchen,' but I saved 'em, you know? I'm really glad now, that I saved 'em. And there are a couple of cards. Pictures. Luckily I took lots of pictures. The jewelry he gave me that Liz made." She clutched at Sookie's arm suddenly in a panic. "I gave him all of his shirts back. Why did I do that? Why didn't I save one?"

"It's OK," Sookie soothed her, not knowing what else to say.

Lorelai's fingers restlessly plucked at her blanket. "Sometimes I think if I could just feel that flannel again, it'd make me better, you know? But it's gone. It's all gone," she muttered. Her thoughts drifted for a moment. "There are all these movies," she started again. "Things we watched together. Music. Things I can't stand to listen to anymore because it's all tied up with him and me. But on Wednesdays I put 'em in again. I let the sounds remind me. I wallow in it. And then I come up here." She pointed a shaky finger at her closet. "I get out the dress."

"What dress?" Sookie asked, not quite following.

"My pretty dress," Lorelai said with a weak smile. "My perfect dress."

"Oh, honey." Sookie felt something sick shoot through her as she understood. "Oh, no."

Lorelai had her eyes closed again, the smile still on her cracked lips. "I couldn't understand my mother, remember? She said she tried on her dress every night. I couldn't imagine. I thought she was crazy. And now I'm the crazy one!" She made breathless noises when she tried to laugh. "Every week, I try on my dress for this wedding that's never gonna happen. Oh, God! I'm Mrs. Rochester! I need a governess to haunt!"

Sookie tried to calm her, petting her shoulder, smoothing back her hair. "You know," she tried to say, as casually as possible, "maybe you need to talk to someone about all this. Get some help moving past it."

"You think?" Lorelai wiped her eyes. "You haven't even heard the half of it, yet."

Sookie frowned. "What else?"

"I wait until it's late enough, and then I walk to town. I look around. I remember. I sit in the gazebo. I watch the diner." Her words were barely loud enough to carry.

"You've done this every week?" Sookie was still trying to absorb the magnitude of Lorelai's obsession. "You mean, even now? In November? You're still doing this?"

"It's the only thing that gets me through," Lorelai explained. "At least this keeps me from going completely crazy."

"_Oh, boy,_" Sookie exhaled under her breath.

Lorelai continued on, full of pain. "I sit and I look up at his place. I can tell. I can tell if April's there. He keeps this light on in the bathroom. He used to do it when Jess was there. I can tell. I know…" She gulped back tears. "Some nights," she whispered, "he's not there. I can tell. And I wonder…I wonder if she's pretty. I wonder if she's good enough for him. I wonder if he loves her enough."

"Oh, honey!" Sookie's warm heart absolutely broke for her friend. "No. No, no, no."

"I know no one would tell me," Lorelai said brokenly. "But I want him to find someone, you know? I don't want him just sitting up there, pining. I want him to find someone; I really do. I just want to _know_."

"There's no one," Sookie quickly assured her. "I know there was a date, but it went no where. You need to believe me. I'd tell you. I promise!"

Lorelai blinked hard, staring at Sookie. She nodded. "So you understand, then. This is my night. It's the closest I can get. I'm so good all week, and it's such a little thing," she wheedled, trying to convince Sookie.

"Lorelai, it's not happening tonight!" Sookie used her firm mother-voice. "You are one sick little lady who's not moving from this bed!" She sighed and looked for strength. "We'll deal with everything else when you feel better. I'm sorry…" She bit her lip as a surge of emotion rolled through her. "I'm sorry I didn't know how much you were still hurting. So let's heal your body, then we'll work on your heart, OK?"

Lorelai started to cry then. Tears slipped out from under her closed eyes and rolled over her flushed cheeks.

"Aw, Sweetie," Sookie murmured in sympathy. She stroked Lorelai's wild hair softly, keeping watch until she cried herself to sleep.

* * *

With the diner finally closed for the day, Luke heavily made his way up the stairs. He flicked on the light in his apartment and looked around, almost as if he expected things to have changed since the last time he was up there. His head felt thick from lack of sleep and confused from all of the conflicting emotions the last few days had brought.

With a groan he lowered himself down onto his couch, but raised back up when he felt Lorelai's nonsensical note poking him. He pulled it out, trying once again to make some sense out of it. He chuckled a little at himself when he realized he was hearing Harrison Ford's voice in his head.

"Yeah, Han, let me tell you about bad feelings," he muttered tiredly.

He tossed the note over on the coffee table and got up, heading towards the refrigerator, intending to get out a beer to nurse. Instead, he crossed the room and leaned up against the window, looking out onto the dark street.

Mia's words from the night before were still bothering him. It made no sense, how much they continued to irritate him. She was the only one to be sympathetic. She was the only one to agree with him. She was the only one who thought that Lorelai still loving him was not reason enough to forgive her. Or love her back. Or try again. Or whatever it was that everyone else thought he should do.

If everything Mia said was right, why did it feel so wrong? Why did he feel like he wanted to argue against everything she said? It made no sense!

Scanning the apartment, he saw the edge of the scrapbook sticking out from where he'd tucked it in a bookcase. It was too wide to fit on the shelf so it was laying on top of the row of books. It lured him over and he picked it up, carrying it over to the table to sift through the pages yet again.

Eventually he came to the blank sheets in the back of the book. For some reason they bothered him all out of proportion. He flipped back to the page with the pictures of Rory, frowning as he studied them. They were wrong. The whole damn book was wrong.

The sudden thought smacked him upside his head with such force that he actually put up his hand, rubbing the spot where it felt like it hit.

This scrapbook was supposed to be a book of his life, but it was incomplete. It was lacking. It was missing the biggest, brightest, and best thing he'd ever known. _Her._ It was missing Lorelai.

Of course, she'd also hurt him more than he'd ever imagined was possible. No, that wasn't true. He'd always known how great the hurt would be. In some ways, Mia was right about that. He'd been waiting the whole time for Lorelai to hurt him, to push him back into the cold sadness where he'd lived for so much of his life. He'd shut her out and then waited for her to do the dirty work. He never thought he deserved so much happiness, not when his parents had lost theirs so quickly. And then, when April turned up the way she did, even though April herself was a blessing, it just seemed like an omen that true happiness was always going to be just out of his reach.

Here, on these pages, was his life. Here was his early life, with the people who loved him but left him, and the people who loved him still.

Here was his life's work. But how could he look at the diner and not think of her? How many times had she begged him for coffee? How many times had she coaxed him out of a bad mood? How could he look at the counter and not see her leaning over it, puckering her lips for a kiss? Would he ever look behind it and not be reminded of the spot that she didn't think needed sprucing? Would he ever forget the way she easily took charge, slinging out the diner lingo with grace and beauty when his uncle died? It was impossible. She was as entrenched in the diner just as much as the ancient cash register.

Here were his girls. Yes, both were his girls, April _and_ Rory. They were happy, and smiling, and loving him. And the reason that was possible was due to the angel behind the camera, who orchestrated the scenes and kept life humming along, playing her tunes. Yes, she was selfish. Yes, she wanted things to go her way. And her way…made things better. Her way ensured happiness and bliss and matching jogging suits and golden retrievers.

_Well…_Luke suddenly saw Paul Anka in his mind's eye. _Maybe not exactly golden retrievers._

He turned again to the blank pages. It was so, so wrong that she wasn't in here. He couldn't imagine what his life would have been like without her. He couldn't imagine…

It was there. _Right there._ He just needed to complete the thought.

_He couldn't imagine his life without her._

He didn't _want_ to imagine his life without her.

He needed her in his life. Otherwise, it was just blank pages and some old memories. He needed her, even with all of the pains and regrets. _He needed her._

He sat for a long, long time, just letting that truth settle into him.

It might take awhile, he thought, before he felt strong enough to put everything behind him and try to move forward. But he understood. At least now he understood.

His hand rubbed distractedly over one of the empty pages in the back of the scrapbook. He looked down at it and an idea hesitantly formed. He got up, slowly walking over to the safe. He stood there for a moment, rubbing his hands in apprehension, before kneeling down to work the combination. He pulled out a small shoebox from the bottom. Cautiously he opened the lid, his breath coming out in a rush when he saw the pictures contained inside. He ruffled through them, deliberately picking out the ones he wanted. He paused when he reached the bottom of the box. Clenching his jaw, he pulled out the delicate engagement ring that she'd so proudly worn on her finger, holding it up and letting the light prism its way through the diamond.

You can't hurt a diamond, he thought. That's what the whole symbolism thing was supposed to be about, after all.

He put the ring back in the box and returned it to the safe, then got up and brought the pictures over to the table. He'd picked out some of his favorite ones.

A very young Rory and Lorelai looked up at him from the first photo. Mia had sent him the picture right after they'd started dating. Rory was maybe three, which would make the Lorelai in the picture even younger than what Rory was now. She was holding Rory on her hip, her head tilted against the little girl's, both of them smiling in delight at the camera. Their hairstyles were the same, both of them with two tails tied with red ribbons, matching the red gingham cowgirl shirt Rory had on as well as Lorelai's red t-shirt. Rory had on white cowboy boots, which she'd wanted at the time more than anything, and Lorelai had scrimped and cut corners everywhere possible to be able to get them for her birthday, according to Mia. While Luke carefully put tape on the back of the picture and pressed it down on the first blank page, he wondered what would have happened if Mia _had_ introduced him to Lorelai back in those early years. Would their feelings for each other have been evident even then? Could he have helped make the girls' lives easier? What would it have been like, to have helped raise Rory and really be her stepfather?

Next was a picture taken of them at Liz's wedding. The photographer had caught them just as he was helping Lorelai up from her seat at the reception. As usual, Lorelai was beaming at the camera, looking even prettier than normal with the wreath of flowers circling her hair. He looked annoyed. Again, as usual. What he always noticed, however, was that he was holding her hand. He'd taken it in his to pull her up from her chair and he could tell, even if no one else looking at this shot ever could, how determinedly he was holding that slim hand in his. He'd made up his mind that if it meant eating turkey legs and dancing to keep that hand in his, he was going to do it. He was holding that hand like he never going to let it go.

_You let go. Oh, God, Luke, you let me go._

He sucked in a breath and exhaled it forcefully as the words from her letter crashed over him. He stuck extra tape on the picture, making sure it would never come loose from the page. If he ever got the chance to hold her hand again, he'd know to never let go.

The next picture always made him smile, even though he'd pretended to be disgusted the first time he'd seen it. Lorelai and Rory were playing bagel hockey on the counter downstairs in the diner. Both of them had shocked looks on their faces, their mouths open in round "O's" of surprise. He'd never learned who had taken the shot, since it had just appeared, shoved under the diner's door one morning. He'd always suspected that the mystery photographer might have been Jess, trying to get some blackmail material on Rory.

He looked carefully at the next shot. It had been taken during the renovation of Lorelai's house, and the two of them were sprawled on the porch steps, hot and dirty. He was leaning back against the post and Lorelai was sitting one step below him, resting her head back on his chest as she nestled between his spread knees. He'd complained that it was too hot to be so close, but she'd insisted she hadn't had enough cuddle time with him that morning, since they'd had to get up so early to get ready for the guys working on the house. Babette had strolled over to ask them about their plans for the renovation and had taken this picture of them. He noticed how relaxed they looked; how comfortable they appeared with each other. He liked the pleased smile on his face and the casual way his hand dangled over Lorelai's shoulder, like this was just a normal, unremarkable day in their life.

The last picture he'd chosen was his very favorite one, and he was pretty sure Lorelai didn't even know he had it. He'd taken it himself the morning after she'd asked him to marry her, and the bright sunlight had cancelled out the camera's flash so that she hadn't noticed him taking it. Lorelai stood at the window, looking out at the gazebo where they'd toasted their engagement with Zima just the night before. Her dark curls were wild, still tousled from sleep, and she was wearing his blue-and-black plaid shirt—and nothing else, although that wasn't obvious in this shot. She cradled a mug of coffee in her hands. Luke loved this picture so much because in it she wasn't posing. That blinding smile wasn't being employed. This was just her, content and peaceful, with only the slightest hint of a self-satisfied smile curving the corners of her mouth.

He fastened it precisely down in the center of the page.

He got up to rummage through a drawer at the counter and brought back a pen and a free package of post-it notes one of his suppliers had left him a couple of years ago.

He allowed himself only a brief moment of hesitation before he wrote "Lorelai" up on the top of the page. Taking a quick breath, he paused, but not long enough to let himself chicken out. At the bottom of the page he wrote, firmly, "The best part of my life." Quickly then, he wrote a few words on two of the post-its and stuck them to the other blank pages, and then closed the scrapbook before he could change his mind. Someday, he promised himself, he'd show it to her.

Drowsiness now started to creep over him, and he yawned. He felt sure he'd be able to sleep tonight. And tomorrow…Well, tomorrow maybe he'd find some time to go over to the house and nail down those loose steps before somebody tripped and killed themselves. Maybe he could even do a little yard work so it didn't look so much like an abandoned house.

As he started to get ready for bed he thought of one more thing to add to his to-do list for the next day. He needed to call Mia. He needed to let her know that she was absolutely wrong.


	6. Out of Options

As quietly as she possibly could, Sookie let herself into Lorelai's house the next morning. She wanted to check on her before continuing on to the Dragonfly. She hoped Lorelai was still sound asleep, but she'd wake her long enough to take her temperature and get the next dose of antibiotics down.

She was just starting up the steps when Lorelai walked in unsteadily from the kitchen.

"What are you doing up?" Sookie automatically scolded her.

Lorelai jumped in surprise and Sookie could see at once that she wasn't any better. Her cheeks were still flushed with fever and her eyes looked glazed.

"Had to get my ballerina ready," Lorelai wheezed out.

"Ballerina?" Sookie questioned, coming back down the stairs and casting a glance over at the small wooden figure that had always been displayed on a shelf in the living room. At least, she'd always thought it was supposed to be a ballerina.

"Took a whole can of Aqua-Net, but that bun is not coming down off her head," Lorelai nodded, pointing at something off in the corner, her voice sounding deep and raspy. "She'll be the best angel there."

Confused, Sookie looked at the emptiness where Lorelai had indicated, then turned back, finally registering what Lorelai was wearing. "Oh, Sweetie," she gasped, taking in the silky purple dress Lorelai had purchased years ago to wear to summer weddings at the old Independence Inn. Over that she had on a quilted thermal vest. Cowboy boots adorned her feet. Her hair was half twisted up and messily held with a clip.

Lorelai put her hands on her hips and looked impatient. "We need to get going. Patty has a fit if the girls are late."

Sookie felt her heart starting to pound as a faint memory came back to her. "Because it's recital, right?" she asked, hoping against hope that she was wrong.

Lorelai tried to laugh, but the sound couldn't come out of her throat. "You should know. You've been here during all of the practice sessions." She turned to face the empty corner where she'd pointed earlier. "Sookie's your biggest fan, huh, Rory? Well, next to me!" She turned back to Sookie, smiling indulgently.

Fear filled up every available spot in Sookie's body. She skittered over to Lorelai and pushed her down on the couch, relieved that she sat without protest. She grabbed the throw from the back of the couch and tucked it around her.

"Just sit, OK? I've got to make a couple of phone calls, and then we'll go. Just sit here, OK?"

"OK," Lorelai said obediently.

Sookie raced into the kitchen, pulling out her phone as she went. She allowed herself one moment of panic when she was safely out of sight.

_Oh, my God! Ohmygodohmygodohmygod! What do I do?_ She shut her eyes tight and tried to get control of her panicked thoughts. _Luke! I'll call Luke!_

Her eyes popped open in relief but then reality crashed down. No, she couldn't call Luke. With a sigh, she nervously scrolled through the numbers on her phone until she saw the after-hours number at the clinic.

In short order she'd explained Lorelai's deteriorated condition to the doctor's answering service, called Jackson and gratefully declined his offer to find a sitter and head over to help, and checked in with Tobin so he could spread the word to the staff that she would be late getting in. She'd call Manny and Michel later with instructions when she knew more about what was going to happen.

_And Babette,_ she thought, just as the doctor returned her call. _I'll need to let Babette know._

"Can you take her to the hospital, or do you want me to phone the EMS?" Dr. Allison asked.

"I'll take her," Sookie said at once. "It's got to be the hospital?" she asked forlornly.

"Yes, we need to get some fluids into her body and fight this more aggressively. The hallucinations are probably from the dehydration," she tried to reassure Sookie, "not because she's worse. I'll call the emergency room and let them know you're on the way, and I'll fax over her records so they know what's going on. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Thanks," Sookie sighed, closing the phone. She squared her shoulders and forced a smile onto her face as she hurried back into the other room.

"Come on," she said encouragingly to Lorelai, picking up her friend's coat and starting to ease her arms into it. "Let's get going."

"Oh, but Rory…" Lorelai started to protest.

"Rory's already in the car," Sookie fibbed, helping her up. "She's waiting for you."

"Oh, OK then!" Lorelai nodded, shakily standing up. "Big day!" she choked out, letting Sookie guide her to the door.

"Yes, it is," Sookie glumly agreed.

* * *

By mid-morning Sookie stood just outside a doorway at Hartford Memorial Hospital, clutching Lorelai's coat, purse, and a plastic bag stuffed with the rest of the weird assortment of clothing she'd had on earlier. She watched as the nurses and orderlies gracefully transferred her friend's too-thin body into a bed, skillfully avoiding the plastic tubes snaking down into Lorelai's arms, and carefully adjusting the oxygen mask that was helping her to breathe.

Panic and fear were bubbling up in her, threatening to boil over at any second. _I'm a mom,_ she kept reminding herself. _I'm an adult. This is nothing I can't handle._ But her encouraging words were being gobbled up by the overwhelming panic that came from seeing Lorelai so sick. Maybe she was a mother, but right now all she wanted was her _own_ mother.

She stepped a little further out into the hall, shifting the things in her arms until she could open Lorelai's purse. She found her cell phone and started to look through the saved numbers. Taking a huge breath, she found the one she wanted and pressed the 'send' key.

"Hi, hi," she said nervously, when the phone was answered on the other end. "Could I speak with Mrs. Gilmore, please? This is her daughter's friend, Sookie."

* * *

Luke looked out over the diner with a practiced eye, mentally calculating who needed refills, who still needed to order, and who would be ready to pay in the next five minutes. These calculations were so ingrained in him that he could pay attention to his business and still have plenty of brain power left over for other things. Today, for example, he could gratefully note that he felt hopeful for the first time in months. He'd slept, which was always a good thing. He had something of a plan to start repairs on Lorelai's house, which made him happy to know that physically he'd be accomplishing something, as well as possibly opening the door for them to act like friends again. He felt like he was at least starting to be honest with himself. So, all signs pointed to it being a good day.

That was when he looked over and saw Babette standing directly outside the window, staring at him with huge, solemn eyes, and holding up Paul Anka so that the dog was next to her face.

Without a word he was across the room and out the door.

Paul Anka went crazy when he saw Luke coming, twisting his body and whining until Babette was forced to let him down. He scurried over to Luke, jumping up on his legs and yipping with doggie joy.

Luke paused just a moment to scratch the dog's furry head. "What is it?" he tensely asked Babette, bracing himself for the worst.

"It's Lorelai, sugar. I thought you'd want to know." Babette's eyes were huge, and for once her voice was serious and straight to the point. "Sookie took her to the hospital this mornin'."

Luke's mouth opened with all the questions he was thinking, but the words stuck in his throat.

Babette gave him the answers anyway. "She's got pneumonia. Sookie stopped by to check on her this mornin' and she was all out of her head, so the doctor told her to take her straight to the hospital. Sookie said she was talkin' all crazy, like Rory was still a little girl. I shoulda been checkin' on her more. I looked in on her last night but she was sleepin'. I woulda stayed with her if I'd a known she was that sick."

"Where?" Luke forced his thoughts together enough to ask the most important question.

"Hartford Memorial."

He gratefully touched Babette's elbow in thanks, nudging Paul Anka off of his feet where the dog had happily settled. His long legs were carrying him towards his truck when surprisingly strong little Korean arms stopped him.

"I've got to go. _I've got to go!_" he protested, trying to throw off Lane's restraint.

"Of course you do! I know that!" She refused to release him. "But take a minute. Think, Luke! Do you have your coat? Your wallet? Keys? No, on all counts! Come on, take a breath. Calm down. You need to get there in one piece."

He stopped and looked down at her kind face, drawing in a needed deep breath. Her words settled in and calmed him. He nodded.

"Go in through the back." Lane urged him. "Go upstairs and get your stuff. I'll run interference. Then_ carefully_ drive to Hartford, OK? And call me when you get there," she added, her concern spilling out with the last words.

"Lorelai ―" Luke started to explain, but his chest was heaving and nothing else would come out.

"I know," Lane said. "I saw Babette through the window, too. I followed you out, and I heard what she said." She rubbed her arms, both from the chilly breeze and the fear creeping over her. "But she'll be fine, though. Right?"

"I'll call you," was the only promise Luke felt competent to make. He patted Lane's hand and tore around the back of the diner to go and grab his stuff.

In under five minutes Luke was in his truck and driving away. As soon as he was out of sight of the diner he pressed down on the gas pedal as far as it would go.

* * *

All the way to Hartford Luke schooled himself on how he would act when he got there. He ran through all sorts of scenarios in his mind. Lorelai might be mad to see him show up. She might be sarcastic, or indifferent, but that was all right. He'd deal with it. Rory might be there. How would she react to him just materializing? Would she talk to him? Christopher might be there. He felt an involuntary shudder run through him. They might have called him, if Lorelai was that sick. Could he force himself to be civil to the bastard?

While he hustled through the parking lot, he coached himself. While he asked for her room number, he encouraged himself. While he rode up in the elevator to her floor, he calmed himself. He was ready to face anything.

Except for what he found.

He never expected to find Lorelai alone in her room, her deprived body barely making a bulge under the covers. He never thought that an I.V. would be dripping something into her arm. An oxygen mask covering her usually-smiling mouth had never crossed his mind. Finding Lorelai quiet, still, and completely immobile was akin to the earth's gravity taking a sudden holiday.

He was too shocked to feel panic. Numbed, he found himself moving over to her bed.

_"This from the man who yelled 'Finally!' at the end of Love Story!"_

He couldn't remember right now what argument they'd been having when Lorelai had said that, but he could hear her voice so clearly in his head. If she'd wake up and look at him right now, he'd admit to her that he got it, at last. He understood now why that blond putz had climbed into the hospital bed with Ali McGraw. He wanted nothing more than to do the same thing. Every cell of his body was telling him to get as close as he could to her, to hold her tightly, to tell her everything was going to be OK. They'd be OK. She'd be OK.

But movies are movies and real life is real life. He cleared his throat and pulled a chair so close to her bed that it was touching it. He leaned forward, his vision blurring for a minute when his fingers curled around her limp hand.

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry. I'm so sorry. Lorelai, I'm sorry…_

He cleared his throat again, wishing he could get those words swirling through his head to come out. The room was so quiet, and she was so still. The mechanical, precise noises from the machines and the continuing bustle from the hallway somehow made the silence more intense.

"I saw Paul Anka today," he heard himself say. He clutched her hand tighter. "He was pretty happy to see me. Babette couldn't hold him back. I guess I should've…I should've tried to see him. He probably wondered what happened to me, huh?"

Luke's voice was just above a whisper as he spoke directly into Lorelai's ear. His thumb rubbed back and forth over her hand, carefully avoiding the device clipped to her finger to monitor her. Once the first words came out, it was easier to say more. Somehow talking seemed easier than the silence.

"Hey. Do you remember that kid April had the crush on, back in the spring? You told me not to worry; he'd be gone in a few months? Well, you were right. Now all she talks about is some kid named Ashley. He's a guy, in case you can't tell. I mean, what sort of mom would name her son Ashley? Like that wimp from Gone with the Wind! Anyway, apparently this Ashley is some sort of science wiz, just like April, and they keep getting thrown together on projects, which she thinks is fate or some sort of sign that they're supposed to be together. She thinks I don't know, but I hear her talkin' to her girlfriends. Plus she mentions his name like every other sentence. Isn't she too young for all this crap?"

Luke paused, but the silence pushed down on him again, so he continued murmuring into Lorelai's ear. He told her about Liz, and how big she was getting, and how she kept going to one of her friends from the Renaissance Faire who did readings from tea leaves, hoping to find out more about the baby that was coming. He talked about seeing Maisie and Buddy, and told her about all of the renovations they'd made to Sniffy's. He told her about the diner and anything else he could think of to say.

The fingers from his other hand had made their way up to her hair and he was trying, unsuccessfully, to push through her curls. Her hair was matted and tangled in a way he'd never known and it was eating at him, seeing it so wild, knowing how embarrassed Lorelai would be to have people see her like this.

Reluctantly he dropped her hand and got up to search the room until he found her things inside the small cupboard at the foot of her bed. He smiled with satisfaction when he spied her hairbrush.

He took his seat next to her again, but this time he gently started in on the mass of tangles in her hair, patiently working at each knot until he could smooth it around his finger with the brush. He carefully avoided the elastic holding the mask over her face, and he kept up a steady stream of words while he worked.

He was beginning to understand why Lorelai talked all the time. It was easier than trying to deal with the huge silence.

* * *

Luke had made wonderful progress with Lorelai's hair and he was starting to think that he was now incapable of shutting up because the words just kept spilling out of him. He'd told her everything and anything. Everything except what he wanted to say the most.

Suddenly the door opened and Emily Gilmore stood there regally, her eyes narrowing as she glared at him.

"Just what do you think you're doing here!" she demanded.

"Now, Emily," Richard Gilmore admonished. His eyes raked nervously over his daughter and he bit down on his lips before looking at Luke. "Hello, Luke," he said, softly.

Luke stood up automatically when they entered the room, taking a step away from Lorelai's bed, still clutching the hairbrush. He nodded at Richard's greeting.

Emily's stance seemed to go even stiffer when she took in Lorelai's immobile body. Her gaze was furious by the time it got back to Luke.

"You have no business being here! If it wasn't for you, she wouldn't even be here!"

Ashamed, Luke wondered how she knew about his weakness, that night he left Lorelai asleep in the gazebo.

"Emily, stop. That's not true," Richard chided his wife.

"Oh, yes, it is! This man is the reason she changed! This man is the reason she wasn't fit to be around! If it wasn't for this man, I never would have stopped our Friday night dinners, and I would have known she was sick, and I would have never allowed her to get to this condition! I would have…I would…" Emily's voice suddenly lost volume as her sight fell on Lorelai again. She pressed two fingers to her mouth and struggled for composure.

"You stopped Friday night dinners?" Luke was stunned.

Emily was still having trouble speaking, so Richard filled in. "Lorelai was…sad, as I'm sure you know. Her demeanor at our evenings wasn't really conducive to any sort of communication. Emily suggested that we put our dinners on hold until such time that Lorelai felt she was capable of rejoining us. That was probably back in…oh, September, I believe."

"You haven't seen her since September?" Luke could feel his jaw clenching.

"Yes, thanks to you!" Emily hissed at him, having found her voice again. "You need to leave. Now!"

Luke wanted to lash back at this hateful woman more than anything, but his good common sense prevailed, and he managed to bite back the vicious comments he wanted to make. He closed his eyes, summoning strength, and when he opened them again he nodded silently and moved to step away from the bed. He would fight this another time.

But something stopped him from moving away. When he looked down, he saw Lorelai's hand banded around his wrist.

"Oh, geez!" he gasped. He bent down closer to her. "Lorelai? Lorelai?"

Her eyes stayed closed but she mumbled something behind the mask. Richard came forward and tenderly pulled it away from her mouth.

"What is it, Lorelai?" he asked, in a gentler tone than Luke had ever heard.

"He stays." Her voice was a hoarse whisper, sounding nothing like her. "He stays, Mother!"

Well, maybe it sounded just a bit like her.

She said nothing else and her grip on Luke's wrist relaxed.

"That decides it, then," Richard announced. "Luke stays," he said, fixing Emily with a look.

Emily made a noise of displeasure and squared up her shoulders. "I'm going to go find some acceptable pillows, then. I don't know why I just didn't bring some from home. Why is it that hospitals are incapable of supplying adequate pillows?" She turned and stalked out of the room.

Richard took another look at Lorelai and then angled a chair closer to the window. He sat down and took out his reading glasses, preparing for a long day of waiting.

Luke looked down at her hand, still lightly touching his wrist. He managed to sit back down at his post beside her bed without disturbing that contact. His heart was beating very fast. She wanted him to stay. That was enough, for now.

* * *

Shadows had lengthened inside the hospital room and Luke realized that a new staff of nurses and aides had been in and out, checking on Lorelai. He looked at his watch and nearly groaned when he saw how late in the afternoon it was. He stroked Lorelai's arm tenderly.

"I'm gonna have to go. I'll be back, OK?" he whispered to her. He hadn't talked nearly as much since her parents had arrived.

He stood up on stiff legs, trying his best to smile politely at the Gilmores. "I'm going to have to get back to the diner," he explained to them, apologetically.

"Yes, I'm certain you have all sorts of pressing things to attend to," Emily said sarcastically.

Luke ignored her and turned to Richard. "I'd appreciate it if you'd call me, if anything changes," he said.

"Certainly. I'll keep you informed." Richard reached his hand out to shake Luke's. "Thank you for being here for her."

Emily snorted.

Walking out the door was one of the hardest things he'd ever done. Every fiber of his body was vibrating with the knowledge that he was moving in the wrong direction, protesting every step that took him farther away from her. He wondered if that was how it felt to her that night out in the street, when she walked away from him. The night he let go.

He pushed the down button on the elevator and waited, his hand braced against the wall, his head bowed in thought. He heard the 'ding' of the opening doors and straightened himself up.

"Luke! Luke! Oh, thank God!"

Sookie plowed into him, struggling to get her arms around him with all of the bags she was carrying. She hugged him hard.

"Sookie," he protested, but weakly, because it actually felt damn good to share some physical comfort after all of the draining worry of the day. He took a step sideways and moved them out the direct path of the people trying to exit and enter the elevator.

"Oh, I'm so glad you're here!" Sookie exclaimed in relief. "I wanted to call you so badly this morning, when I found her. I didn't know what to do, and all I kept thinking was 'Call Luke!' But I knew I couldn't do that, but, oh, you're here! That's so great! But wait…How'd you know?"

"Babette."

"Oh." Sookie took a step back, trying to settle herself and her belongings after her enthusiastic greeting. "Well, for once, hooray for the gossips, huh?"

"What happened?" he asked, gesturing with his shoulder back at Lorelai's room. "How'd she get so sick?"

A tremor ran over Sookie's face. "Oh, Luke, it's all my fault," she said, sounding like she was fighting tears. "I should have known. I should have seen how bad things were getting for her. I shouldn't have let her isolate herself the way she did, but I just didn't know how to help her! I knew she wasn't the old Lorelai, but she seemed to be coping, so I let her go. But I swear, I swear, Luke, I really didn't know until last night how bad it was."

"What are you talking about?" he asked, not able to follow Sookie's tearful admission.

"The…the grieving. She'd built up this whole intricate way of dealing with it, and I didn't even know. She was getting sicker and sicker and crazier and crazier, and I just looked the other way and pretended everything was fine. I suck as a friend," Sookie said bitterly.

Luke shook his head firmly. "That's not true. You know that's not true. But what do you mean, grieving? Grieving about what?"

Sookie gave him an exasperated, pointed look.

"Oh." Realization flooded him. He cleared his throat, tried to get back on topic. "She's been sick about a week, right?"

"No, the doctor says she's been sick a long time. Not with the pneumonia, but sick with a cold or something else that led into the pneumonia. Six weeks, maybe. That's why it's so entrenched and they've got to fight it so aggressively. Six weeks. And I didn't even know. And she's been doing all of this crazy stuff, apparently since you guys broke up, but I didn't even have a clue."

Luke actually felt the pieces fall into place in his head. "Sleeping in the gazebo," he muttered, his eyes opening with the insight. When Sookie looked at him in confusion, he elaborated. "Last week, I saw her, sleeping in the gazebo. I knew she was sick, after. I sent her some soup."

"Oh, so _that's_ where the magic soup came from!" Off of Luke's look, she added, "She kept saying she was better, because she ate the magic soup. I understand now," she nodded.

"I've got to get going," Luke said regretfully. "I just kind of ran out of the diner this morning." He stepped over to the elevator and pushed the button again. "Call me if you need anything, OK?"

"Sure." Sookie fixed him with a stern look just as he stepped inside the elevator car. "You do the same."

He nodded as the doors closed, feeling a flicker of warmth. He'd cut himself off from so much after losing Lorelai. He was flabbergasted to hear that she'd done the same thing.

He had nearly reached his truck in the parking lot when he heard his name being shrieked. Turning, he saw Rory's dark head bobbing between the parked vehicles. He rushed to meet her two aisles over.

She was gasping for breath and had her arms wrapped tightly around her middle. "Oh, God, oh God!" she wailed, instead of greeting him. She blinked at him, trying to hold back the tears. "It's really bad, isn't it? They didn't tell me — they didn't tell me it was this bad. But it's got to be really bad if they called _you_! Why didn't they call me sooner? I would have been here. I would have been here!" she said frantically, sounding as though she was trying to convince herself as much as him.

Luke reached out instinctively to hold her but she shied away, making him recoil as if she'd slapped him. "They didn't call me," he muttered, pushing his hands deep into his pockets. "I found out and I came on my own. Your mom's tough. She'll be OK," he said automatically, with no strength left for real assurance.

Rory shook her head and nearly bent over double as she tried to deal with her emotions. Luke had to bite his lips together to keep from trying to reach out to comfort her again.

"You don't know. You just don't know." Rory straightened up and looked at him, pushing her bangs out of her eyes as the cold November wind gusted around them. "She hasn't been OK for a really long time. And I…" She had to pause to blink the tears back. "And I got tired of waiting on her. I didn't know how to handle it anymore. I just stopped trying to help her." The words tumbled out of her. "I figured she did the tough love thing on me last year; it'd serve her right if I did the same thing to her. I wanted her to face up to what she'd done and deal with it. So I stayed away. But it backfired on me. Mom didn't even want me to come home for my birthday, Luke! She came to Yale instead. And then I tried to come home for Halloween, but Mom said she wasn't doing Halloween this year ―"

"Lorelai didn't do Halloween?" Luke cut in, aghast.

"No! See, that's what I mean! I abandoned her! She needed me! I should have known that! I should have never left her alone like this! It's all my fault!" Her face crumpled into that of a little girl being forced to deal with grown-up issues.

Luke couldn't stand to see her in such anguish. This time he reached for her and drew her to his chest, not letting her weak protests push away his instinct to comfort her.

"Hey, it's OK," he said softly, holding her tightly while she took in some shuddering breaths. When he felt her give a slight nod he let go and stepped back, looking off to the side when Rory wiped her cheeks with her fingertips.

"We're all blaming ourselves," he explained. "I think it's my fault. You think it's yours. Sookie thinks she should have known. Your grandmother — well, no, your grandmother blames me," Luke added, rolling his eyes. "Even Babette thinks she should have known, and if Paul Anka could talk, he'd probably say the same thing. But we all know how stubborn Lorelai can be, and if isolating herself is what she wanted, do you really think you would have been able to push through that?"

"Yes!" Rory insisted. "Well, maybe," she conceded, a few beats later. "If I'd been home, at least I would have seen she was sick. I could have done _something_!"

"Sookie didn't know," Luke pointed out. "She saw her everyday, and she didn't know. I don't think it would have made any difference, Rory."

"Maybe." Rory sighed and looked up apprehensively at the building across the street. "I know it's stupid, but I'm almost scared to go in there."

"Do you want me to go with you?" Luke offered at once.

She considered that briefly before she shook her head. "No, I can do it," she said with determination.

"Your grandparents are up there. And Sookie," Luke told her, hoping that news would bolster her courage.

"OK," she said, and set her face and shoulders, ready to face whatever she found.

"Hey," Luke said quickly, stopping her from leaving. "Just so it doesn't shock you when you see her. They've got her on oxygen, so she's got on one of those mask things, you know? And they're giving her antibiotics and some sort of sedative through an I.V., because they want her to sleep. When I first walked in and saw her, it sort of — it sort of…" he trailed off, not wanting Rory to know how that first sight of Lorelai had terrified him.

She nodded, and put her hand on his arm quickly. "Thanks," she said in understanding, and gave him a token smile before she walked away.

Luke curled his fingers inside his jacket pockets, forcing him to stay still as he grimly watched Rory cross the street on her own. Only when she disappeared through the entrance did he once again turn towards his truck, resigned to heading home, far away from where he truly wanted to be.

* * *

Almost exactly 48 hours later, Lorelai released her grip on the all-purpose remote control device attached to her bedrail. She'd been around and around the 10 TV channels available in the hospital a million times and knew she'd have to be a lot sicker than what she currently was to watch those poor offerings. The live feed from the chapel on the fourth floor was the most exciting option at the moment. For just an instant she contemplated pushing the help button, just to see what would happen. Her thumb had accidentally connected with it yesterday and every staff person intimidated by Emily Gilmore had come flooding into her room. It had been funny, in an embarrassing sort of way.

She tried to sit up to look around the small room for some sort of diversion, but even that small physical exertion reminded her how weak she still was. She bit down on her lip to keep from cursing out loud and reached once again for the control, raising the bed under her head to a more upright position.

She scanned the room hopefully for something she'd overlooked. She'd gone through all of the magazines Rory had brought her. She'd also brought some books, but Lorelai's brain just couldn't handle a lot of reading yet. The same thing for the knitting and work from the Dragonfly that Sookie had carted in for her. Those activities just required more energy than what Lorelai currently had available.

Thanks to Sookie, her room was overflowing with treats, making her extremely popular with the hospital staff. Her own appetite was still lagging, though. The only thing that really sounded good to her was more of Luke's soup, but she knew she couldn't ask for that. Gratefully she stretched her arms, happy that she was no longer tethered to the I.V.

Just as she was about to turn the TV back on, the biggest bouquet of lilies and sunflowers she'd ever seen pushed through her door. Her gasp of delight was cut short in shock when she registered who was carrying the beautiful flowers.

"April?" she questioned, her disbelief evident. Her voice still sounded low and raspy.

"Hey, Lorelai," the girl said calmly, moving into the room. "Are you feeling up for some company?"

"Um…Sure?" She put a nervous hand up to her hair and tried to smile. Sookie had told her she'd been seeing things the day they brought her to the hospital. Was this just another delusion?

April suddenly stopped and looked behind her. Making a noise of exasperation only available to 13-year-old girls, she returned to the door. "Come _on_," she said, annoyed. "It's OK."

Lorelai's head tried to bury itself back against the pillows when Luke shyly entered the room behind April. Now she knew she was seeing things.

"So, you're feeling better?" April asked, still clutching the flowers while perusing the medical equipment in the room with unmasked curiosity. "Luke said you had an I.V.?"

"Yeah," Lorelai replied, barely able to tear her eyes away from Luke. "They took it out this morning."

"Aw, man," April grumbled, disappointed. "What were they giving you?"

That made Lorelai turn her attention to the girl. "Uh, I don't know. But they say I'll get to go home tomorrow."

"Yeah, we know," April nodded.

Lorelai whipped her eyes back to Luke. "How do you know?"

He smiled then, that little smile he used to give her when he managed to surprise her. "Oh, I have my sources," he said dryly, and her heart completely turned over when his eyes finally looked into hers.

"Oh, hey, these are for you," April said, suddenly remembering the flowers.

Lorelai buried her face in them, delighted. "Thank you," she said. "They're gorgeous." Her eyes went back to Luke's and refused to leave.

He nodded, looking happy that she was pleased.

"Let's see," she mused, striving to sound lighthearted, "I'm trying to update the stats here. What is it now? Fourth? Fifth?"

"I think fifth." He swallowed, and when he spoke again, he sounded as though he was trying to match her easy tone. "But it should have been a lot higher."

"No," she disagreed. "That's what makes it special."

"So Luke says you have pneumonia."

Lorelai once again forced her attention to April. "Yeah. A really impressive case, according to my doctor."

April's forehead creased as she pondered that. "How did that happen? I mean, didn't you know you were sick?"

"I…" Lorelai rolled around various responses, trying to land on something feasible she could offer that wouldn't allow more than a glimpse into her soul. "I hadn't been feeling like myself for a really long time. When I got sick, I just assumed it was all related. And then, I guess I got really sick, and then I got even sicker, and nothing made sense."

"But you had to be running a fever." April's eyes, the color of Lorelai's favorite coffee, weren't letting her off the hook. "You wouldn't have been able to take a deep breath. How could you not know?"

Lorelai squeezed shut her eyes and leaned back tiredly against her pillows. "April, honestly, I didn't feel much different than what I was used to. I know that sounds stupid now, but it's the truth."

"But," April started again, digging in, but Luke cut her off.

"I think we need to go." He jerked his chin at Lorelai. "You look like you need some rest." When she opened her mouth to protest, he added, "And I need to get her home."

Lorelai clamped her mouth shut and turned away, feeling that familiar pain tear through her as Luke once again put April's needs before hers. It didn't matter that Luke was doing exactly what he should be doing or that he no longer had any obligation to her whatsoever. The pain was still there.

"Thanks so much for coming to see me." Her voice was husky. "Thanks so much for the flowers. I love them." She hoped her eyes were telling him just how much.

"Bye, Lorelai," April said, and started for the door.

Luke took a step closer to the bed, and looked like he surprised himself by lightly putting one hand on top of hers holding the flowers. "I'm glad you're feeling better," he said calmly, although his face looked like other emotions were struggling just underneath the surface. He turned to leave then, but her hand whipped out and caught his wrist.

For a moment both of them stared at her fingers clenched tightly around his wrist.

"You were here," she murmured. She looked up, catching his eyes. He nodded.

"My mother," she said, biting off the rest.

He chuckled at that. "Yeah. Your mother," he agreed.

She nodded, reluctantly loosening her hold on him. "Thank you," she said, softly.

The hand she'd released came up under her chin and tipped her face up towards his. "I had to," he told her, the words sounding like they were choking him. "I had to." His arms reached for her automatically and in a second he had her banded to his chest, the whiskers on his chin rasping against the soft hair on top of her head, the poor flowers crushed between them.

"Get well." She heard the words rumble in his chest, under her ear, and then she watched him bolt for the door.

In the next minute a frantic nurse appeared at her bedside, rushing in to see why her heart rate was so elevated.


	7. Making It Better

The house was _so_ quiet.

Lorelai snuggled herself a little deeper into the corner of the sofa and looked around, not sure why she felt so unnerved. She'd been alone in the house for months now and the quiet hadn't bothered her at all. But for some reason the late afternoon twilight was sending shivers of unease up her spine.

She'd convinced everyone that they needed to go live their own lives tonight. The last few days had seen Rory clinging to her, refusing to go to classes. Sookie had been spending more time here than at the Dragonfly or at her own home combined. Babette had been a constant presence, barging in and out at will. And even her parents had been hovering, seemingly unwilling to let her out of their sight. It had gotten to where it was just too much. She'd grown used to the quiet; used to nothing in the house except her tormented thoughts and Paul Anka's toenails clicking against the floor. All of the hovering and solicitous inquiries and the whispers from out in the kitchen where they all convened to discuss her appetite and her color and her mental status had finally gotten to the point where she just couldn't stand it. She needed the aloneness again.

So she'd convinced Sookie to go to a friend's restaurant opening in Bridgeport tonight. She'd pleaded with Rory to go spend time with Logan, who'd flown in early for the Thanksgiving holiday. She'd pointed out to her parents that they'd had tickets for the Broadway play for months, and that she'd feel terrible if they missed it because of her.

Finally they'd all gone. She could tell they didn't want to. She could tell they thought it was a mistake. Rory, in particular, looked sulky. But she didn't care. She needed them to be gone. She needed to be alone with her thoughts again.

Now, however, alone in the big, quiet house, she wasn't sure. Suddenly she felt very breakable. The silence was louder than she remembered. She was no longer convinced that she was capable of taking care of herself.

In the few days since she'd been home from the hospital she'd found she was distrusting her instincts on everything. The fact that she hadn't realized she was sick was making her doubt everything. If she couldn't even tell she was running a fever, how could she be trusted to run a business? How could she listen to her daughter and give her advice? How could she ever get back to whatever normal was?

"Paul Anka!" she called out, patting the couch loudly beside her, hoping that his furry company would take away her skittishness. The yelling brought on a coughing fit and she had to take a slug of 7Up to clear it.

Paul Anka trotted up and looked at her curiously while she panted for breath. She patted the couch again and he jumped up, contentedly curling up against her side.

The late afternoon sun caught the gold of one of the sunflowers in the vase off to her right, and she instantly reached for the TV remote, hoping that she'd find something on the tube for her mind to dwell on instead of the anguished guy who'd brought her the flowers.

She'd coaxed her mother into dividing up the slightly crushed bouquet for her. Emily didn't want to, but she couldn't tell Lorelai no, either, so now she had a vase up in her room as well as down here, constantly broadcasting his presence. It made her ache and gave her strength at the same time.

She hadn't seen him since his unexpected visit at the hospital with April. When she came home they pointed out to her that some good Samaritan had repaired the porch, changed out the dead lightbulb, and cut down most of the weeds. The identity of that person didn't seem to be in doubt.

He hadn't been by, but his food was abundantly available. Everyday either someone came in bearing a sack sent from the diner, or a box full of goodies appeared magically at the door. She tried to eat it, but her appetite was still sketchy and after several bites the bittersweet knowledge that she was eating his food again made it stick in her throat.

It smelled like heaven, though. When no one was looking she'd confiscated a burger wrapper to keep under her pillow. The scent lulled her into a better sleep than she'd had in half a year.

Now her finger started pushing on the channel button, beginning her search for something to watch. She heard Judy Garland singing before the picture came into focus and she rushed past it, averting her eyes. 'Almost Famous' was on the movie channel just above and that seemed like a safe bet to not stir up any old memories.

She eased herself down on the couch, resting her head on her arm. Paul Anka gracefully leapt over her legs and squirmed into position in front of her. She put her other arm over him, and in no time at all both of them were sound asleep.

* * *

Hours later she awoke shivering, dreaming that she was in the gazebo, dreaming that Jess had rousted her awake. "Get out of here," he'd snarled at her. "He doesn't want you anymore, don't you get it?"

Her heart was still thudding in her chest when she reached up, trying to find the tableside lamp. The yellow light that spilled out from it gave her some reassurance.

The movie had ended long ago and now the resident cinema expert was interviewing the director for the one coming up next. She found the remote where it had fallen to the floor and shut off the TV.

She felt clammy and shaky and very alone. She realized that the shakiness was because she needed to eat. She knew they had left a profusion of food for her in the kitchen so she swung her legs to the floor and stood up.

Promptly she plopped back down. Her head swam from the effort to get upright. Nausea rolled over her and she breathed in sharply, trying to get a grip. After a few tense moments she was able to grasp her glass of flat, warm 7Up and take some sips, lulling her stomach into calmness.

With a tired sigh she admitted, only to herself, that possibly Rory and everyone had been right. Maybe it was too soon for her to be on her own. But the night wasn't over yet. She'd rest a bit, let her brain get used to being vertical, and then start for the kitchen again. She could do this. Of course she could.

Suddenly Paul Anka appeared from wherever he'd been hiding, his interest aroused by the front entryway. His head tilted as he studied it intently. A moment later someone knocked on the door. He trotted quickly to it, sitting on his haunches expectantly.

Lorelai wanted to call out a greeting but she knew that would only precipitate another coughing fit. And although she stood up, wobbling, she wasn't sure she could make it to the door before whoever was there gave up and went away.

Then she heard the door opening.

Paul Anka turned circles of happiness.

April walked in, her arms encircling a cardboard box. "Hi, Lorelai," she said nonchalantly.

Luke took a second or two longer, because he had to shut the door, but he was right behind her, another box slung under his arm. "We, uh, we thought we'd bring you dinner," he said, his voice trying to match April's easygoing tone.

Lorelai could only stand and stare, a hand rubbing fretfully at her forehead. She was so afraid that this was some sort of an awake dream she was having. A return of the hallucinations, maybe. But Paul Anka, then, was apparently seeing things, too, because he was happily greeting Luke.

In an instant Luke had set down his box, stepped over Paul Anka and crossed the room to her. He was grim as he clutched her shoulders, looking fully into her face, searching her expression. "What's wrong?" he asked at once, fear coloring his voice. One hand left her shoulder and circled gently around her waist, almost as though he thought she was going to topple over. "Do you need the doctor? Tell me!" he begged.

"I'm…I'm fine." Lorelai took a breath of the cold air that had come inside with him. She felt his arm tensed around her waist. It was real. He was here. Her face felt stretched and she realized it was because she was smiling. A real smile. "I'm fine," she repeated, a little more firmly. "You just startled me."

She heard his breath of relief. He stepped back, embarrassed now that he'd touched her. "Rory stopped by the diner; told me you were on your own tonight. I thought maybe you'd like some dinner. And some company," he added.

"That's exactly what I need," Lorelai confirmed, suddenly feeling stronger. The smile seemed to be on her face to stay.

"So this is Paul Anka, huh?" April had put down her box too, and she was sitting cross-legged on the floor, letting the dog sniff her. "I've heard about you," she told him. "I've heard you're not normal. But you seem fine to me. Yes, you do. Yes, you do!" She gave his head a good rub.

Paul Anka looked like he was in love.

"He's changed some since I've been sick," Lorelai told her. "I think he's had to take care of himself and it's made him stronger. More dog-like."

April giggled as he tried to snuffle in her ear.

"Well, let's get the food into the kitchen." Luke went over and scooped up the box he'd been carrying. April quickly got up and grabbed hers, following him into the kitchen.

Paul Anka trotted after both of them, adoringly.

And after a few moments Lorelai crossed her trembling arms over her chest and followed as well.

She leaned against the doorway and watched as Luke effortlessly took over her kitchen once again. He popped aluminum foil-wrapped trays into the oven and pulled out containers from the seemingly bottomless boxes. He gave April one or two word directives and she followed them flawlessly. Without a hitch she took the salad from him and dumped it into a bowl, giving the lettuce and veggies a professional toss. They seemed to be a team.

She watched this ghost daughter move through her kitchen with a lump in her throat. How many times had she imagined a scene like this? She rubbed her arms hard, trying to convince herself this was actually happening.

"I brought lasagna." Luke's gruff voice brought her back to earth. "There's salad, but I brought that disgusting ranch-and-bacon dressing you like, so I hope that's OK."

Lorelai cleared her throat, giving herself a few extra seconds to find composure before she spoke. "Sounds great," she managed to say with enthusiasm.

He suddenly stopped and practically glared at her. "Sit," he ordered, pointing to the table.

Her body jerked away from the door at his rough tone and she looked at him, troubled.

She watched his shoulders rise and fall as he pulled in a calming breath. "You didn't look too steady when we first got here. You should sit down."

She looked to the chair and then back at him. "I could at least set the table," she offered.

"I'll do that!" April volunteered at once. "Where are the plates?"

"Here." Luke pointed to an upper cabinet.

"Actually…" Lorelai eased herself down onto one of the chairs while she pointed to a cabinet on the other side of the room. "I know you won't believe this, but the kitchen was a tiny bit of a mess. Sookie did a complete re-organization." She looked up just as Luke met her eyes. "Things aren't the same around here anymore," she added, trying to joke, but the words made her cringe when she heard how they came out.

He turned away, his hands resting on his hips. She bit her lips, wishing she could erase her poor choice of words. To her surprise, after a thoughtful pause, he continued.

"But the plates…They're still here, right? I mean, everything ― everything's still here, right?"

She cocked her head, looking at him with curiosity. Luke had never been one for word games. She was probably just putting too much weight on what he was saying.

"Everything's still here. Things have just been moved around. And that might make it, you know, kinda awkward."

Luke looked at her for a quick moment, nervously. "Awkward's OK. Awkward's better than…missing."

Some sort of soothing happiness started to drip into her, something better than any medication ever found in an I.V. "We can deal with awkward," she agreed, smiling. She rubbed absently at the troubled spot right above her heart. She could swear she felt a few of the gazillion pieces starting to knit together.

April soon had the table set with only a few more directional orders. Next she started to get their drinks, and Lorelai asked her to fill her glass from the already opened bottle of 7Up in the refrigerator.

"You could drink orange juice," Luke suggested hopefully.

"I do in the mornings," Lorelai told him, a small, pleased warmth spreading through her because he cared enough to suggest it. "But the 7Up cuts the gunk in my throat better."

"That's the worst part about being sick," April commented, bringing the glass of clear liquid over to her. "You think you're never going to get done with the coughing."

"Oh, wow." Lorelai's hands suddenly grabbed at her hair. "I just realized what I probably look like. I wasn't dressed for company." She tried to smooth down her hair while she looked with disgust at her old tired sweatpants and hoodie.

"You look fine," April lied politely. "And that's the best part of being sick, getting to stay in your pajamas all day and watch TV."

Lorelai grinned at her, sensing there was a common bond. "Sounds like your mother's raised you properly."

"She tries," April agreed, bringing over the bubbling garlic bread and taking her seat.

Luke sat down a huge square of lasagna in front of her, probably big enough to feed a small country. She was about to protest that it was too much when the aroma hit her and she was instantly ravenously hungry.

He brought over the salad and sat down too, and Lorelai dove into her food, feeling the true pleasure of eating for the first time in weeks if not months. No one spoke except to praise the food.

She looked up happily after a few bites, licking some of the ricotta cheese and tomato sauce from her thumb. Her eyes rested on Luke, eating his salad. Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart, that had been trying valiantly to piece itself together, gave her a squeeze of pain. There he was, sitting at the table again, just the way he always had. The rightness of him being here tonight crashed into the anguish of all the nights he had not. A tremor of emotion hit her and her fork clattered to the floor.

April jumped up at once, oblivious to the play of emotions on Lorelai's face. She snagged the fork and carried it over to the sink.

Lorelai felt Luke wanting to catch her eye while she held on to the tabletop and tried to calm her racing heart. She blinked rapidly, gulping a breath, and finally took the chance of looking at him.

"It'll get better," he assured her, his voice offering her a promise. He only held her eyes for a moment.

"Oh, yeah," April said, not paying any attention to the undercurrents at the table. She placed a fresh fork at Lorelai's side before she slid back into her chair. "We brought this fantastic chocolate chip cheesecake for dessert." She cut her fork back into her lasagna as she nodded her head towards her father. "He insisted we had to make it with double the chocolate chips that the recipe called for, which I thought was a brilliant idea."

"That sounds great," Lorelai agreed, trying mightily to put a cap on her trembling emotions and get interested in eating again. Something about the mention of cake and dessert sent her brain down another path and after only a few moments the significance of tonight hit her.

"Oh, no! Luke! It's your birthday!" she cried out.

"Unfortunately, yes," Luke agreed, grimly.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Lorelai said, mortified. "You should be doing something more fun than having to take care of me."

"This is…fun," Luke insisted.

Lorelai's head swung towards April. "Fun," she said, as haltingly as he had. "That's the f-word, as far as your dad's concerned, you know."

April snickered in appreciation while breaking off a piece of garlic bread to pop in her mouth.

"Lorelai," Luke said in that warning tone she loved.

"I don't even have a gift for you!" she pointed out, distressed.

Luke sighed, wiping his mouth slowly with his napkin. He reached across the small table and his thumb just barely swiped over her clenched hand lying there. "You already gave me the best gift possible," he told her, his voice serious.

"Oh, yeah, the scrapbook!" April's head shot up in enthusiasm. "Dad showed it to me! It's really great, Lorelai!"

Tenderness washed over her when she heard April refer to him as 'Dad.' The warmth beamed out of her as she looked at Luke, her mouth forming an indulgent grin, imagining how happy that must make him. He smiled back before shyly dipping his head down, staring into his lap.

"He did, huh?" Lorelai prodded at the girl, still smiling affectionately.

"Yeah," April continued, eagerly. "I hadn't seen any pictures of his family at all. We think that maybe I'll got his mom's…uh, my grandmother's nose." She turned sideways, offering Lorelai her profile.

"Hmm, let's see." Lorelai took April's chin in hand, turning her back and forth as she studied her. "Well, I've only seen a couple of pictures myself, but yeah. I can see the resemblance."

April nodded and took another bite of her lasagna. She chewed quickly, swallowed, and spoke again. "We went over to see Aunt Liz. She's cool. She got out a lot of other pictures and we had a really good time looking through all of them. She made me this," April added, holding out her wrist which sported a colorful bracelet with a dangling peace symbol.

"Very nice," Lorelai said in approval, fingering the beads.

"Yeah." April prepared to take another bite. "T.J.'s weird, though."

Lorelai laughed, even though the laugh sounded rusty from disuse. "Yes, T.J. is very weird. You'll have to ask your dad about his construction skills sometime. It'll make that little vein in his forehead pop out," she teased, her joking tone nearly sounding normal.

April laughed, apparently knowing exactly what Lorelai was talking about. "He took me to a really cool restaurant, too. The people there treated us like we were family, or something."

Lorelai fought to hold onto her lighthearted mood. "You went to Sniffy's?"

"Yeah." April nodded vigorously as she took another bite. "The food was really, really good."

Lorelai trembled with the effort it took to keep smiling. "But they didn't bring you anything you ordered, did they?" she asked knowingly.

April gave her a pleased look. "You've been there?"

Lorelai felt her lips threatening to give her away, so she bit them for a moment, demanding they behave. "I've been there," she finally said, softly.

"Great!" April looked over at Luke. "The next time we go, we should take Lorelai with us."

Despair made things swim in front of her. She tried to push it aside. "I…I wouldn't want to intrude," she finally said, hoping the subject would be dropped before the tears could come.

She heard Luke's voice. "They'd love to see you," he said, his voice gentle, but sure. She raised her eyes to look at him. "Maybe when you feel better," he added, not looking away.

Her mouth opened, but she really didn't know what to say to that.

April happily crunched through a piece of celery from her salad. "It was such a relief to find out that Dad had a family," she confided to Lorelai. "I was afraid he didn't have anyone." She stabbed another bite of lettuce. "Except me."

"That was kind of the point of making it," Lorelai murmured, her emotions at war. She was glad that April cared about Luke, but to realize just how much was making her feel left out in the cold more than ever. A shiver passed through her.

"So, how did you do the stuff with the cover?" April asked curiously.

Lorelai took a breath to push away Sniffy's and the joy of newly-discovered families, and gratefully launched into the distraction provided by the scrapbook fabrication. Her appetite had once again deserted her. She hoped no one noticed that she was only picking at her still-huge portion of lasagna.

* * *

Over the noise of the hot water filling up the sink Luke could hear April and Lorelai debating the merits of the offerings on the various TV channels they were flipping through, trying to settle on something to watch. He'd already noticed how April's demeanor had changed since they'd arrived. She was more giggly; more like a thirteen-year-old girl should be. The perpetual worry in her tense shoulders had eased. It was obvious she felt comfortable here. It was obvious she liked Lorelai.

He finished throwing the dirty plates and utensils into the sink and then started to wipe down the countertops and the stove. He gnawed his bottom lip as he worked, hoping that their impetuous barging in tonight hadn't hurt more than it helped. When Rory had stopped by the diner and asked if he could make sure her mother got some food tonight, he originally thought he'd ask Lane to deliver a meal. But as the day progressed he could picture being here again. He could picture easing April into the scene. And selfishly, he wanted to see her on his birthday. He could think of no greater gift than seeing her up and talking again, erasing that awful day in the hospital from his mind.

But now as he stuck the leftovers in her refrigerator, including her mostly untouched plate, he worried that he'd pushed too hard. Maybe it was too soon to try for something approaching normal. Maybe she needed some more time to get healthy before they tried to find the path out of limbo.

"Oh, that's perfect!" he heard Lorelai yell. In another moment he heard her goofy singing voice. "How do you solve a problem like Maria?" she crooned, loudly.

"Not that damn nun again!" he roared, grinning, because that was supposed to be his response.

He heard her delighted laugh and a pleasure shot through him that he hadn't felt in eons. She kept singing along, outrageously. April laughed.

He kept grinning, plunging his hands into the soapy water. He relished hearing the silliness that floated into the kitchen.

He knew a secret about that, actually. He knew that Lorelai had a beautiful singing voice, something completely separate from the over-the-top way she was hamming it up right now. One day he'd come home while she was babysitting Martha Belleville and he'd overheard her singing that crazy 'Mockingbird' song to the baby. Her voice had been clear and sweet and strong. The voice of an angel. He'd listened, standing motionless on the stairs, stunned that she had yet one more gift he hadn't known about. That day he'd crept back out of the house, not wanting her to know he'd heard. He always thought that he'd surprise her with his secret knowledge one day. He always thought that on the day they brought home their own baby he'd ask her to sing 'Mockingbird' again.

Now he angrily tried to scrub off the sticky cheese from the serving spatula. Just one more secret. Just one more thing he'd never talked to her about.

In the other room, Lorelai's singing was cut off with racking coughs. He could hear the strangling noises as she tried to suck in some air through her clogged throat. He grabbed for a towel and was on his way into the living room when she appeared at the doorway, red-faced and wiping her streaming eyes. Still choking, she waved an arm at him, indicating that she was OK. She made a beeline for the refrigerator, pulling out the bottle of 7UP and taking a huge drink straight from the bottle.

"Sorry," she whispered, her voice gone. "It's the only thing that helps." She plopped down at the table, breathing shakily.

"Just nod," Luke told her, squatting down beside the table. "Don't try to talk. Are you sure you're OK?"

She smiled as much as she could and nodded before taking another gulp from the bottle.

He hadn't even realized his hand had strayed to her knee until he felt the soft knit material of her sweatpants under his palm. He didn't know how to remove it without drawing more attention to it, so he left it there. "Listen, I could make you some tea, if you think that'd help," he offered. He suddenly heard how ridiculous that was, to think that she'd have tea, and he chuckled. "If you had any, that is."

"I…I do," she said, looking down at her feet. "And yeah, that sounds good, actually."

"OK," he stood up, glad to have an excuse to move away from her. "Just tell me where it is and I'll get it started."

One finger nervously started chipping away at the label on the 2-liter bottle. "It's still in the same place," she admitted.

He looked at her, not buying it, before crossing the room and opening one of the small side cupboards. Sure enough, every tea bag that he'd left in the house was neatly contained in a small, square storage box. He would have thought that there had been simply no reason to have disturbed the contents of this cupboard, except it was obvious that it had been cleaned out and lined with fresh shelf paper

He put his hand out, bracing himself against the cabinet. She'd saved his tea.

"What kind would you like?" he asked solemnly, sounding like he was offering her much more than tea.

"I think there's still some peppermint. That'd be good."

He nodded, pulling some out. "Maybe I'll make some for all us." He filled the kettle and put it on the burner before going back to the dishes in the sink.

Lorelai got up and slowly came to stand next to where he was working. She leaned her forearms against the counter by the sink, watching him. "You know that's my job you're doing," she told him, sounding a little smug.

"I'm pretty sure pneumonia gets you out of dish duty for a while," he told her.

"Really? Wow, cool! I'll have to make sure Rory knows that." She watched him rinse some silverware. "I'm glad being sick has some perks to it."

"I'm just glad you're home," he said sincerely.

She watched him, her mind somewhere else. "Hey, Luke? How did you know I was getting out of the hospital that day?"

He took his time washing a glass. He took his time answering. "I might have gotten a phone call."

"Oh?" she asked. "Who? Rory?"

Again, he took his time. "Rory," he agreed, finally. He kept on working, kept his eyes on the dishes in the sink. "Sookie," he added. He let the silence stretch out again. "Your father," he revealed, smiling when he heard her shocked intake of breath. "And two of the nurses from your floor."

She laughed then. Bumped her hip into his. "Well, aren't you just Mr. Popular?"

He chuckled, too. This felt good. It felt like the old days, back before they'd even started dating. This felt like the way they used to tease and bait each other. Maybe his prayers had finally come true and some rift in the universe had seen fit to bounce them back a half dozen years.

She bumped her hip into him again. "So," she said, her voice that soft mix of happiness and pride that she usually used when speaking of Rory. "She calls you dad now, huh?"

"Sometimes," he said, swallowing down his disappointment that they were still stuck in the present, but glad that they were having a real discussion. "Sometimes it's still just Luke."

She reached out, grasping his elbow for a gentle second. He looked down at her face, which was beaming with delight for him. "You must have been over the moon the first time she said it."

It hit him then, harder and sharper than ever. This was what he'd let slip out of his life. This warm, generous woman who was standing here next to him even now, thrilled because his daughter ― the daughter who'd inadvertently caused their disaster ― had called him 'Dad.' He swallowed hard and for once said exactly what he was thinking.

"The first time she said it, I barely even noticed. I mean, I don't think she meant to say it, or planned it or anything. It took me a few sentences before it caught up to me, you know? And then, when it did, the only thing I could think about was that I couldn't …" He faded off, not able to get it out after all.

"Couldn't what?" she asked kindly.

"I couldn't tell the one person I wanted to tell," he said, forcing himself to look directly at her.

"Oh," she breathed. She looked away, moved away a step. "Yeah," she murmured. She sighed and looked back at him. "I've had a lot of those moments too. Times when I actually had my hand on the phone before I remembered."

He was glad that the tea kettle started to steam. Glad he had reason to turn away. Glad he had something else to occupy his mind and hands.

"So how are things with Anna?" she asked, a brisk note in her voice, moving them away from the sentiment.

"Better," he said thankfully. "A lot better," he added, with feeling.

"Good," she said faintly, and when he glanced over at her he could see clearly that she believed it was because she was out of the picture. He hurried to correct her assumption.

"Mainly it's better because I stopped letting her walk all over me. I went to see a lawyer, just to find out about my options, and just the threat of that seemed to make her willing to meet me halfway. It's not perfect, but at least she's more willing to negotiate now."

"That must be a big relief to you."

He nodded, placing the tea bags into the mugs.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see her staring at the table and chairs. She crossed her arms over her chest.

"It was so strange, having you be here tonight," she said softly.

He didn't say anything. He just waited.

"In some ways, it felt so normal, you know? It was so right, seeing you here." She paused, her chin raising and then lowering to her chest. "And at the same time, it made me so sad," she whispered, almost to herself. "I can't stand to think of all of the nights you weren't here. All of the dinners we missed."

This was almost more honesty than he could handle. He felt his own throat closing up, and he cleared it, breaking the mood. "I think it'll get better," he said, gruffly.

"Yeah," she said with a small sigh. She took a step, preparing to turn, when the too-long leg of her old stretched-out sweatpants tripped her up, nearly pitching her face-first onto the floor.

Luke grabbed her without hesitation to arrest her fall. His hand slid under the waist of her hoodie as he caught her. He felt skin and bone and nothing else.

"Lorelai, what the hell?" he whispered, stunned. He brought his other hand to her other side, panicking when he felt how little of her there was. "What did you do?" he implored, half angry, half scared to death.

"Hush!" she begged, squirming her way out of his grasp. "It's not like I did it on purpose, Luke! I was crazy and sick and nothing tasted good to me."

He felt his mouth set in a grim line and he wanted to rant at her. He wanted to yell and scream to take away the awful knowledge of how bad it had been for her. He couldn't stand knowing.

She surprised him by stepping up close to him again. Her eyes liquid, she reached up and gently smoothed over all of the anguished lines on his face. He felt lightheaded and struggled to take a breath.

"I see it in you, too, you know," she told him painfully. "It's all right there, just under the surface." She blinked hard, but wouldn't look away. "And it's my fault. I know it's my fault."

He couldn't look away from those sapphire eyes bathed in tears. His hand came up and enfolded hers on his face. They were both breathing hard, drinking each other in.

"Lorelai!" April's voice cut them apart. "You're missing everything!"

"I should …" Lorelai motioned towards the living room.

"Sure. I'll bring the tea in a minute." He returned to his task.

"Thanks, Luke." She paused at the doorway but didn't turn back. "Thanks for this."

"Sure," he said again, mostly to himself, because she'd already left. He pulled out the chair and sat down heavily, rubbing his head. What would it take to finally get the right words out of him?

* * *

"Dad!" April hissed at him in a whisper, nudging him with her foot for good measure.

Luke tried to turn, but the length of time he'd spent sitting on the floor had seemingly cemented him in place. When he'd come into the living room after finishing the dishes, he'd decided to just sit on the floor, his back against the couch. April was in one corner, Lorelai in the other, and the floor seemed a better alternative than either sitting between them or taking the awkwardly-placed easy chair off to the side. He groaned involuntarily, trying to turn enough to see her.

"Shh!" April warned him, pointing.

He looked to the other corner and saw that Lorelai was deeply asleep.

"She's been out for a while now," April whispered. "I think she's really wiped out. What should we do?" she fretted.

He turned back around and reached for the remote, turning off the brave Von Trapps before they started their march to the Alps. He rolled over to his knees and then leaned over to Lorelai.

"Hey," he said gently, rubbing her shoulder.

She was buried deeply in sleep, and it took some time for her to come up out of it. He could tell by the first warm, sultry look in her eyes that she wasn't fully in the present. Another moment passed and then he could see the pain and confusion when it all caught up with her again.

He fought the urge to lay his forehead down against hers in compassion. He'd had too many of those mornings himself, where he'd awakened thinking they were still together. He knew the dull pain that hit once reality forced its way back in.

"I think it's time for us to go," he explained gently. "I think you need some sleep."

She opened her mouth and took a big breath, as if to refute him, but instead she just nodded, meekly.

He leaned backwards, tugging at her arms, helping her to get upright. She whimpered a little and rubbed at her forehead.

"OK?" he asked.

"Yeah," she replied, sounding cranky. "Just takes my stupid head forever to get used to being up again."

He stood and looked down at her, his hands on his hips. "Do you need to take any medicine before bed?"

"It's upstairs," she sighed tiredly, closing her eyes briefly.

"Whenever you're ready," he said, offering his arm. He hated the panic that suffused her face when she absorbed his intentions.

"Oh, you don't have to ―" she started to protest.

He pulled his arm back, a little hurt. "OK. Fine." He motioned for her to get up on her own.

She chewed her lip but pushed herself up off of the couch. He could tell how much effort she was putting into not wobbling, but it was useless. She wobbled and he grabbed her elbows.

"Just let me help," he said reasonably.

She hung her head, but nodded in agreement.

April had gone to put on her shoes and pet Paul Anka goodbye. She came up now, following the adults to the stairs.

"I like watching movies with you," April said, completely seriously. "This was just as much fun as my birthday. Maybe we can make some sort of a pact to celebrate all of our birthdays together like this, watching movies."

He was holding Lorelai's arm and so he felt it quiver against him at April's words. "This was a great movie night," Lorelai agreed, her voice a little raw. "Thanks for sharing your dad's birthday with me."

"See ya." April held onto the bottom of the banister while they started up. "Keep getting better, Lorelai!"

"Thanks. That's the plan."

Luke kept his arm firmly around her shrunken waist, helping her to navigate the steps. He didn't know why she was so reluctant to accept his help, especially seeing how shaky she still was. Did she want to risk falling down the stairs? Was it such a terrible thing, to let him help her?

By the last step it hit him that he was walking her upstairs to the bedroom. Their room. Their bed. He wished fervently that he had an extra hand to smack himself across his face. Geez, what an idiot.

He stopped at the start of the hall and released his hold on her. He forced a smile. "Can you make it from here?"

"Sure," she nodded. "Thanks, Luke." She cast a quick glance back down, searching for April. She took his hands in hers, swinging them slightly as she considered her words. "This was…This was incredibly generous of you. I can't begin to tell you how much tonight meant to me." She looked at him again, with those deep, shining eyes. She dropped his hands and reached up, her arms encircling him. She hugged him as hard as she could.

He grasped her solidly and pulled her close. They swayed together, both of them fighting the emotions that were threatening to overwhelm them.

"Miss you," he managed to get out, the gruff words sounding as though a chain saw had had to carve them out of his heart. They weren't exactly what he meant to say, but they weren't bad.

"Miss you, too," she whispered, her lips touching his cheek. She landed back down, flat on her feet, rubbing at her leaking eyes while she tried to smile. "I promise, someday I'm gonna be able to look at you and not be a blubbering mess. But it's not tonight, apparently."

He pawed again at her shoulder, swallowing hard himself. "I understand." He motioned towards the door. "You're OK, the rest of the way?"

"Yeah." She squeezed his hand one more time. Gave him one more shaky smile. "Happy birthday, Luke," she whispered. They were some of the sweetest words he'd ever heard. She walked into their room and closed the door.

He went back down the stairs, thankfully without breaking his neck, because he couldn't feel the steps under his feet. At the bottom he sat down on the last step, giving his equilibrium a chance to return.

April appeared, her coat on. She was carrying his. She frowned at him thoughtfully before joining him on the bottom step.

She nudged him with her shoulder. "You know, we don't have to go." He looked at her, a little perplexed, and she shrugged. "I mean, if you think she shouldn't be alone. Rory probably wouldn't mind if I borrowed her bed." At her father's rather stunned look, she continued on, quickly. "And if it was better, I could go back to the diner on my own. That wouldn't be a problem at all. You could just stay. If you wanted," she offered hesitantly.

His head started to shake before he found the words to go with it. "It's not my place to stay," he said, bitterness shadowing the sadness of his words.

April's hand patted his knee. "Dad," she started, then stopped, sounding as if she'd reconsidered what she was going to say. He stared at her hand, marveling at how it already looked like a young woman's hand instead of the girl he'd met just a year ago. "Dad," she started again, apparently deciding to plunge ahead. "Are you ever going to tell me what happened?"

Her honest question startled him, and he looked down into her steady, innocent face. In that moment he could see just a glimpse of the woman she was going to be someday, and he was relieved to see it wasn't going to be her mother. _Because of me,_ he thought, in a moment of pure insight. _She's not just Anna now. She's me, too._

He pulled her into a fierce hug, holding her as closely to him as he had Lorelai just minutes ago. "I love you," he told her, knowing that was the truth. He wished he could have said the same thing to Lorelai when he had the chance. He pushed April's hair back from her face and looked into her worried eyes regarding him from behind her glasses. He hoped to God she would never have to go through anything this painful in her life. He'd kill any guy that broke her heart into a gazillion pieces.

"So are you going to tell me?" she asked again, impatiently.

"No," he said, standing up and pulling her up with him. No way he could handle telling his daughter the bitter truth. At least, not yet. "Go tell Paul Anka goodnight. We're heading home."

* * *

Luke was staring out at the gazebo. Again. Every time he couldn't sleep he found himself watching the structure with weary eyes, worried that she was out there in the cold again.

They'd been back at the diner for hours. April was sound asleep upstairs, an arm stretched out over the bedspread she'd picked out for herself. He'd prowled around up there for a while, finally making his way down to the diner when he started to worry that his pacing would only wake her up. He came downstairs because he didn't want more questions about what had happened with Lorelai. He could barely understand himself what had happened between them.

He pulled a chair off a table and sat down on it, feeling weak. He took both hands and rubbed over his head, his heart aching as much as his tired body. Sleep was out of the question. There was too much stuff swirling through his head. All of these words. Words that he just couldn't seem to say out loud. As long as they were all trapped up there, sleep stayed away.

Unless…He looked around, considering. If he couldn't say them, could he write them? Lorelai hadn't said them either, he realized, startled. He felt like she had because he heard her voice every time he read her letter. Maybe he could write down the things he needed to say, too. Maybe that would help to clear his head.

He shuffled across the diner floor in the thick hunter's socks he'd pulled on his feet. He knew he had slippers he never wore upstairs someplace, but he wasn't going to chance waking April while he looked for them. The old socks and a sweatshirt were keeping him warm in the chilly diner.

He rustled through a few drawers until he found an old legal pad, the yellow pages so ancient that they were starting to turn white. He found a pen and then pulled out one of the battery-powered lamps he used to put on the tables at night. He turned it on and sat down with the pad, feeling nervous shivers pass down his back. He wasn't at all sure that he could do this.

Luke stared at the blank page for a long time, clicking the pen over and over while he thought of everything he needed to say. Finally he took a deep breath and began.

_Hi, Lorelai,_ he wrote.

It was a start.

* * *

Voices called out surprised greetings to Rory Gilmore when she made her way to the counter in the diner the next day. It was past 11 and people were starting to fill up the tables again, either looking for a late Saturday morning breakfast or an early lunch. Rory waved her arm in greeting as she shyly came to stand in front of Luke.

He folded his arms and beamed at her, pleased that once again she was in his diner.

"Hi, Luke," she said, her voice still sounding the same to him as it did years and years ago, on the first day when she asked him for a burger and fries, please. She always said please. She pulled her wallet out of her hugely over-sized pink bag. "What do I owe you for Mom's dinner last night?"

"Nothing," he insisted. "I told you yesterday, it's my pleasure."

"Luke, you can't keep doing this," Rory argued. "You've already sent so much stuff over to the house, but I'm willing to overlook that, because that was your decision. But I'm the one who asked you for a meal last night, so I should pay you for it. Seriously. It's the least I can do." She pushed a bill at him.

He folded his hand over her fingers, pushing the money away. "I was happy to do it, Rory. It wasn't much. And she hardly ate any of it, anyway."

Rory's body stiffened and her mouth lost the smile. "How would you know what she ate?"

Luke prepared himself for the battle he saw brewing in her eyes. "Because I stayed and ate with her."

"Are you crazy?" she hissed out at him, incredulous. "You had the nerve to come into our house and eat dinner with Mom? What were you _thinking_?"

The particular words she'd chosen were just the right ones to get his anger ignited. "It's partly _my_ house, too, Rory. Or have you forgotten that?"

"It still didn't give you the right to try and worm your way inside again! Not when Mom can't defend herself! How could you _do_ that?"

"Look. It wasn't that big of deal. We had a nice meal, and I really think that Lorelai enjoyed seeing us ―"

"_Us!_" Rory all but shouted the word at him, her eyes absolutely flaming. "Who's 'us,' Luke?"

He tightened his jaw, not liking where this was going. "I brought April along."

"You had the nerve to bring her and flaunt her under Mom's nose? Luke! What the hell? Are you trying to kill her?" Rory pushed her hands through her hair in agitation, and then spun and headed for door. "I need to get home. I need to make sure Mom's OK." she said frantically. "From now on you just stay away, you hear me? You keep your burgers and your coffee and stay as far away from us as you can!" she yelled from the doorway.

Luke had had enough. He took one moment to breathe and then stalked out the door after her. He caught up with her partway down the sidewalk and a burst of speed got him in front of her, blocking her path.

"Look, I understand you got hurt in this whole thing, too. I understand you're mad at me. But you, better than almost anyone, knows it wasn't just me! I'm not the only one to blame for all of this!"

"You started it!" Rory was crying now, but so angry she didn't care. "You drew lines and kept Mom out! And now all I'm doing is trying to protect her! I never thought I'd have to protect her from _you!_" She cried as if her heart was breaking.

Luke's fists clenched as he looked down at the ground, ashamed. If anyone else had made Rory cry like this, he'd run them out of town. But these tears were because of him. Almost as if he'd become a villain in her life. He couldn't stand it.

He stepped up to her, putting his arms around her gently. He let her cry against his chest. "You're still my girl," he said quietly to the top of her head. "You know that, right? You'll always be my girl." He rubbed her back, wishing for the tears to stop, and tried to ignore all of the curious looks from pedestrians passing by. "I'm just trying to find a way to make it better. That's all. I just want it to be better." He sighed deeply, giving her one more real hug. "I've missed you," he said, echoing his words to Lorelai last night.

"You've got to stay away from her. She's just not strong enough. Do you hear me?" Rory tried to sound threatening, but she missed the mark. She pulled away, shivering as she wiped her face. She wouldn't look at him. "I've missed you, too," she agreed, in spite of herself.

Luke looked off in the distance and then slowly pulled the letter he'd worked on all night out of his back pocket. "I was wondering if you'd ―"

"No," Rory said at once, backing away. Instinctively she knew whatever was in that envelope was too powerful to touch. "No way."

"Rory, please."

"No!" She shook her head vehemently and rubbed the fingers of her right hand together to illustrate. "Mom's rubbed so thin. She's almost worn in two. And I'm not going to be the one to give her something that completely snaps her apart! No!" She turned her back and began to walk away.

Luke felt desperation wash over him. "I didn't even get to really thank her for the scrapbook!"

Rory paused. Turned back. "What?"

"The scrapbook," he said helplessly.

She walked back, slowly. "What scrapbook?"

"She made me this incredible scrapbook," he explained, hardly able to believe that Rory didn't know about it. "She went to everyone, collecting the pictures. She worked on it for a long, long time. And she wrote me a letter. It was…it was a beautiful letter. It opened my eyes, and it made me understand so much. And now I just…I want…I'm just trying to make it better," he pleaded, once again holding the letter between them.

Rory stared at the envelope in his hands for a long time, breathing hard. Finally she looked into his face. She snatched the letter out of his hand and stuck it in her ostentatious bag. "I'm not promising to give it to her. At least, not right away," she grumbled.

"I'll leave that up to you," Luke capitulated. "You decide when she's feeling up to it. I know she's still got a long way to go before she's healthy again."

Rory shoved her hands into her coat pockets and looked towards home. "Thanks for bringing her dinner," she said, still sounding cross.

"You're welcome," Luke said.

"I don't want to be mad at you anymore, you know," she admitted, and started to walk away. She paused for just a moment. "I just want things back the way they were," she said with yearning, and then briskly headed for home.

"I know," Luke said quietly, and turned back to the diner.

* * *

Lorelai was sitting at the kitchen table, proudly sipping at a cup of tea she'd made herself when she heard Rory tear in through the front door.

"Mom? Mom? Where are you?"

"Back here!" Lorelai sipped at the tea as soon as she finished shouting, trying to prevent a coughing fit.

"Are you OK?" Rory rushed in and threw her arms around Lorelai's shoulders. "Mom, I'm so sorry!"

"What's going on?" Lorelai asked, troubled. She loosened Rory's grip and leaned back to see her clearly. "I'm fine. What's got you so upset?" She pushed back Rory's bangs and saw the evidence of tears. She tried to get up at once. "Oh, Sweetie, what is it? Did you and Logan have a fight?"

"No." Rory sat down so her mom would sit back down, too. "I stopped by Luke's. He told me he came here last night. I'm so sorry, Mom! That was not part of the deal! I can't believe he did that!"

"You're upset about that? Rory, it was fine. Really. It was a very nice thing for him to do. A very Luke thing to do."

"He brought her here!" Rory fumed.

"Her?" Lorelai frowned at the tone. "Do you mean April?"

"Yes! Her! April! The cause of all the problems!"

"That's enough." Lorelai's voice was crystal clear. "April is welcome here anytime. What happened was not in any way April's fault."

"But if she hadn't forced her way into Luke's life ―"

"She wanted to know her father, Rory. Are you saying that she didn't have a right to know who her dad was?"

"No," Rory sulked. "But if it wasn't for her, nothing would've changed. You'd be married, and we'd be …" She dipped her shoulders, showing her inability to land on just the right word. "Happy," she groused.

"Are you saying that it'd be better for Luke to not know he has a daughter? You'd want him to go on with his life, oblivious to that fact?"

"No," Rory grumbled. She kicked at the big bag at her feet, not caring if she marred the pink leather or tore out any of the tiny stitches. She stretched her arm out across the table and leaned her head down to it. "So I can't be mad at April?"

"No."

Rory sighed. "And I can't be mad at Luke?"

"No."

"Can I be mad at you?"

"Yes," Lorelai said at once.

"I don't want to be mad at you." Rory raised her head and reached out her hand to her mother. Lorelai took it and squeezed it gratefully.

"Can I be mad at Anna?" Rory asked, after a beat.

"Yes!" Lorelai nodded triumphantly. "Yes, let's be mad at Anna!"

"Good," Rory said. "'Cause I really want to be mad at somebody."

Lorelai was quiet for a minute, stroking her daughter's hand. "Did you yell at poor Luke?"

"Yeah. But don't worry. He can take it," Rory sniffed.

"I'm not so sure about that," Lorelai murmured. "This has been really rough on him, too," she pointed out sadly.

Rory raised herself up and slumped back in her chair, sighing. Lorelai could almost see the pros and cons lining up in her head. Finally she reached for her bag and drew out the envelope. She laid it on the table between them, smoothing out the crinkles it had received from Luke's pocket and her anger.

Lorelai stared at it, her heart beginning to pound. She put out one finger, letting her fingernail rasp against the edge of it.

"It's from Luke. But you don't have to read it if you don't want to. We can just put it away somewhere, until you feel like reading it. Or I can put it away, so you don't even have to think about it. Or I could read it, and then let you know what it says. Or we could just throw it away. Or give it back to him. The thing is, you don't have to deal with it now. You really don't," Rory said earnestly.

Lorelai kept staring at the envelope. "I want to read it," she said, her voice not coming out very strong.

"Mom ―"

"No. I want to read it." There was no mistaking her determination this time. She stood up as she reached for it.

Rory stood up too. "What are you doing?"

"I'm not going to read it in front of you."

"Mom." Rory rushed to get in front of her. "I just want to go on record as saying I think this is a mistake. Please. Wait."

Lorelai could feel her mouth drawing down into lines of displeasure. She knew she looked something like her mother just now, and that made her even less pleased. "He wrote me a letter, Rory, and knowing Luke, it probably says something like, 'Hey, don't forget I put the leftover lasagna in the refrigerator,' but it's from _Luke_! He wrote me a letter and I'm going to go read the letter! I'm going to go upstairs, like an adult, and I'm going to read the letter, so that when I embarrass myself and cry like a baby, it won't be in front of my kid!" With that she held her head high and walked carefully to the stairs.

She had to grip the banister heavily, but she made it up the stairs. She walked to her door. "Bad idea," she whispered. She couldn't go in there. She couldn't read this letter in the room that was supposed to be theirs, sitting on the bed that they had picked out together. She kept walking.

The renovation last year had left a tiny little room at the end of the hall. They'd put her sewing machine in it and her dressmaker's dummy. Boxes filled with leftover crap from her room were stacked in the corner. She flicked on the light because this room stayed dark until late in the afternoon. It had been a long time since she'd been in it.

Her hand caressed the edges of some paint samples she'd tacked up. She'd picked out a blush pink and teamed it with a deep mauve. Another sample had a sky blue with a dark sapphire for the trim color. Baby colors. Colors suitable for the baby she always thought would inhabit this room.

They'd never talked about it. Of course not. But the week after she'd put up the paint samples, Luke had called to say he was driving to an estate sale in Bridgeport. He wouldn't tell her why. But that night he came home with a beautifully carved rocker, with wide, comfortable arms. He'd carried it up to this room, and placed it down in the center, right where it was now.

With a smile he'd turned and sat down in it, his hands smoothing over the well-worn arms. He'd then held his arms out to her, looking exceptionally pleased with himself. She'd gone to him at once and he'd pulled her down into his lap. They'd rocked and kissed until the chair couldn't hold them any longer, and then they'd gone into their room, to their bed. They both knew what they were hoping would happen.

She realized she was crying, and angrily she swiped away the tears. She knew she wasn't making that up. She knew at one time they really were that attuned to each other. When had it gone away? When did they stop listening to things other than words?

She stepped inside, pulling the door shut behind her. She settled herself into the rocker. Her heart was pounding again. Slowly she slipped her finger under the flap of the envelope, increasing the pressure little by little until the paper tore away.

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and carefully pulled out the yellowed pages. She unfolded them, running her fingers over the back of the creases to get them to lay flat. She tried not to scan the words on the page, but her heart thumped even harder when she registered how many words there were. And pages. Plural.

One deep breath. She started to read.

_Hi, Lorelai,_ she saw, and she smiled. She could hear him saying that. The summer he was exiled to Maine, at the very beginning of their relationship, every phone call started with the same shy, sweet greeting. _Hi, Lorelai,_ like he couldn't believe she was calling him. Another deep breath and she read on.

_Hi, Lorelai._

_You know I'm not good at this stuff, but I'm going to try. If my attempt at this is terrible, I hope you give me some points just because I'm trying._

_I'm probably going to use some words over and over, just to warn you. One of those words is 'ashamed.' I have a feeling I'm going to use that one a lot._

_I'm really ashamed that I haven't told you before this how wonderful that scrapbook is. It's the best thing anybody's ever given me. I love it. I've looked through it so many times. I think it did what you hoped it would. It reminded me that I wasn't alone, and it got me out of the diner and talking to people again. You probably don't know that I tried to find out where you got all of the pictures. What a wonderful thing you did for me._

_You know how you always were pestering me with 'What if' questions? 'What if the diner was on fire and you only had a minute to grab something, Luke, what would it be?' Well, now I have the answer. It'd be this scrapbook. It's become that important to me._

_And then, there's the letter. It nearly killed me, Lorelai, and I can imagine how hard it was for you to write it. Kind of like how hard it is for me to write this one._

_Right after we ― What? What do I call it? We broke up? That makes it sound so trivial. After we ended, I guess I'll call it. After we ended, I couldn't think about what had happened at all for a long time. I pushed it away. I buried it, and just went on living. No, not really living. Functioning, maybe. I'm sure you know what I mean. Life went on, and since I was alive, I went on, too. Then one day, I guess enough time had passed that I was able to think back on what had happened. And it just seemed to me that you deliberately picked the one thing to do that you knew I wouldn't be able to forgive you for. That you picked the one thing that you knew would cut out my heart. I'm not saying this now to try and hurt you. I just want you to know how I felt. How I saw it._

_Then I read your letter. It made me see it from your side. It made me sick to hear that you thought I'd let you go. Your words have been haunting me ever since I read them the first time up at the cabin. To be honest, I'm not sure what I was thinking out on the street that night. I don't think I intended to let you go. I was angry and confused and irritated that you'd let me worry about you for the few days before. I know I was angry enough that I didn't feel like chasing after you and trying to make up right then. I didn't know that was going to be my last chance. Lorelai, I didn't mean to let you go. At least, I don't think I did. That's one of the things that's killing me now, because I'm not sure. But in the end it doesn't matter, because that's what I did, didn't I?_

_To be honest, when I showed up at your house the next morning, my heart wasn't really in it. I figured it was the over-the-top kind of gesture that you liked. I figured that by then you'd have re-thought the whole elopement thing anyway, but my willingness to go along with it would help us to patch things up._

_I'm ashamed. I'm ashamed at how casually I treated you. I'm ashamed that I didn't see how hurt you were. I was so stupid. I'm sorry, Lorelai._

_I know I need to explain the whole April thing, and I don't know that I can. And the reason for that is, I'm not sure that I know exactly what happened. Dumb, huh? The day she came into the diner for the first time, I couldn't believe it. I thought it was a joke. I kept waiting for you to jump out from behind something and say "Gotcha!" It was something that doesn't happen in real life. When she left I actually looked the diner over for hidden cameras. I mean, no way was this really happening._

_That night I still expected you to own up to it. When you didn't, I started worrying. I started doing the math, and unfortunately it all added up. This awful fear started burning inside of me that it could be true. I didn't want it to be true. I wanted to pretend that it hadn't happened. I wanted everything to stay the same. I hoped that if I ignored it, it would go away._

_Then, after so many days of pretending it hadn't happened, I couldn't stand not knowing. I had to find out the truth. So I went to April's school. It was true. She was my daughter. I'd had a daughter for 12 years and didn't know it._

_I was a mess. I was angry and hurt and numb and proud. I didn't know what to do first._

_You're probably thinking right now, 'Well, Luke, the first thing you should have done was tell me.' But I couldn't. I just couldn't. I'd already waited too long. I kept running all of these conversations through my head. I'd picture telling you, and I could hear you telling me that you couldn't be with anyone stupid enough to not even know they'd fathered a child. Then you'd throw the ring at me and leave. Or I'd tell you, and you'd be angry because I waited so long to tell you. Then you'd throw the ring at me and leave. So I kept putting it off, hoping that I'd come up with a better way to tell you. Even then, I knew it was stupid to wait and a terrible thing to do to you._

_Then you met April 'accidentally' at the diner. Sometimes I think I was deliberately tempting fate with that, maybe almost hoping you'd discover her so I wouldn't have to keep it from you anymore. I know you were angry and hurt, but you didn't have the reaction I'd expected. Somehow when you accepted the situation and accepted what I had done, it made something shift inside of me. Somehow it almost seemed like you didn't really care. It almost felt like you were backing off. And that made it easier for me to keep pushing you aside. I think I felt that if you weren't protesting, then it made the awful way I was treating you right._

_You know you weren't the same person anymore during that time. You lost your spark. I think I knew it was because of me, but yet I was afraid it was because you didn't really love me anymore. I think I started using April as a buffer because I was scared you were going to tell me goodbye. It was easier to pretend it all wasn't happening. And apparently when I pretend I turn into a jerk._

_I was so stupid, Lorelai. I'm so, so sorry. We're a pair, aren't we? I can picture us in the future, sitting in rocking chairs somewhere, and all we have to say to each other is "I'm sorry." "No, I'm sorry." "I'm really sorry," and on and on._

_As far as I can tell, this whole thing boils down to 3 questions for us. The first is, do we still love each other? In your letter you said you do, and I believe you. Do I still love you? Yes. That's a given. The love I feel for you is never going to change. Next, can we forgive each other? There's a difference between forgiving and forgetting. I can't forget yet, and maybe I never can. But forgive? Yes, I forgive you. I have to, because I love you and because I understand what made you do it. The last question is, do we want to be together? For me, it's yes. Without you my life is just going through the motions, you know? Yes, there are all of the people in my scrapbook, but they're on the edges. You're in the center. I need you in the middle there with me, or the rest doesn't matter._

_I know you're not well yet. I want you to take all the time you need to get healthy again. But when you feel up to it, please answer the other two questions:_

_Can you forgive me?_

_Do you still want us to be together?_

_I feel like I've been writing all night, and I guess I have, because I hear the heat starting to kick on. It's time for me to figure out how to sign this letter, too. I liked the way you chose to go in yours. I thought the 'always' was perfect. I'll always love you, Lorelai. I hope you don't doubt that._

_Keep getting better. Eat the leftovers in the refrigerator._

_Always,_

_Luke_

* * *

Finally Lorelai was ready to go back downstairs. She'd read the letter over and over. She'd cried and cried, and now her face was dry and she was calm again. Rory had been upstairs knocking on the door three separate times.

"Go away," Lorelai had told her, every time, even the last time when Rory had threatened to call the fire department and have Chief Baker come and break down the door to get her out.

But now she was ready. Her legs were stiff when she tried to move, but she took her time. She shambled slowly down the hall and took the stairs one at a time.

She heard voices in the kitchen. She went that way, even though her head still felt like she was in her own separate world. Whatever was going on in the kitchen really didn't have any meaning for her at the moment.

Rory apparently had heard her coming down the stairs and intercepted her before she reached the kitchen. "Mom?" she asked, concerned. Something in her face must have reassured her. "You're OK," she said, and it wasn't a question.

"It was good," Lorelai said, her voice a mixture of the reverence and disbelief instilled by the amazing letter. "It said more than, 'There's lasagna in the frig.'" Then she laughed. She really laughed, albeit rather breathlessly. She couldn't believe the lightness and the happiness within her body. "It was a really good letter," she revealed.

Rory hadn't taken her eyes off of her. She pulled in a sharp breath as her shoulders sagged down in relief. "It really is OK, isn't it?" she asked, every word sounding as though it was filled with hope.

Lorelai suddenly felt the overwhelming need to bounce up on her toes and she heeded the impulse. "I think so," she nodded, confirming Rory's hunch. "Maybe." She forced her feet to calm down and tried to sober up. "I hope," she added, fervently. "But at the very least, it'll certainly be better."

Rory visibly relaxed. "Oh, thank God!" she murmured, and sagged against her mother, forgetting that Lorelai's strength to keep her upright wasn't a given.

They shared a bone-crushing hug before heading on to the kitchen, where the talking stopped as soon as they crossed the doorway.

Lulu and Sookie were both there. Sookie was at the stove, stirring some simmering soup.

"It's not magic soup, but I think you'll like it," Sookie told her.

Kind, sweet Lulu came up to Lorelai and gave her arm a warm squeeze. "I brought you some slippers I knitted," she said, pulling a fuzzy purple pair out of a bag. "I know when I'm sick I can't stand it if my feet are cold."

Lorelai impulsively gave her a hug. "Thank you," she told her. "Thanks, Sookie. All of you have been so nice to me. I'm not sure I deserve it, but I appreciate it. And I hate to ask one more favor of anyone, but ―" she took a big breath ― "is anyone heading into town?"

"Um, I can be," Lulu said, looking doubtfully around the room.

"Right now?" Lorelai asked, urgency taking over her voice.

"Uh, sure," Lulu faltered.

"Great!" Lorelai turned and moved as fast as she could into the living room. She turned the desk upside down until she found a blank piece of paper. She wrote one word on it, making the letters reach from one side to the other. She folded it several times, and when she looked up, she saw that everyone had followed her and they were now all watching her with speculation. She blinked under their scrutiny, then marched up to Lulu.

"Would you please take this to Luke? Now? Please?" she asked, trying to keep her voice just this side of begging.

Lulu's whole body and face said _'Awww,'_ even if her mouth managed to hold it in. "Yes!" she said, thrilled, and grabbed her coat while she rushed to the front door.

Lorelai felt a glorious sense of peace flow over her as Lulu went out the door. She turned back to her dear friend and her daughter, who were watching her closely. She smiled at them serenely.

"I'm hungry," she happily demanded. "What's to eat?"

* * *

At the diner, Luke had taken the paper from Lulu's hands and had walked directly to the storeroom, so no one saw him drop to his knees when he read the one word on the page.

_YES!_, it said, in letters so big there was no mistaking their meaning.

* * *

Twilight was once again bathing the Gilmore household in partial shadows when Lane opened the door. "Anybody home?" she yelled as she walked in. "Delivery!"

Rory ran to the door, delighted to see her friend. "Lane!" Her delight was tempered when she saw the box from the diner. "What's that?" she asked, still on guard, holding out her hand.

"Nope. My orders are to give this only to Lorelai," Lane stated.

"Something for me?" Lorelai popped up from where she'd been lazing on the couch, letting certain phrases from Luke's letter repeat in her head. "Gimme," she said, wiggling her fingers at Lane.

"You look a lot better," Lane said with obvious relief, sitting herself down next to Lorelai and handing her the box.

"Thanks," Lorelai said. She was trying to play it cool, but her hands were almost shaking too much to open the box.

Inside was a whole pumpkin pie, warm and mouthwatering.

And taped to the top was a note, once again torn from his order pad.

_1 pie,_ it said. _Type: Forgiveness._ Her breath caught in her throat. She sat the box down on the coffee table and pulled the note off of the lid, bringing it up closer to her eyes so she could read the small letters he'd printed at the bottom.

_You know where to find more when you want it. Always, Luke._

The last vestiges of the terrifying frozen bands that had encased her chest for so long melted away. She took a full, deep breath for the first time in so, so long. Laughter bubbled up out of her. She remembered. She remembered when she felt like this all the time.

"Oh, I could make this into something _so_ dirty!" she crowed, laughing, waving the note around over her head before pressing it possessively to her heart.

From either side a girl tackled her, squeezing the air out of her still-recuperating lungs when they both hugged her fiercely.

"Who wants pie?" she offered happily, just as soon as they released her and she was able to breathe again.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Don't worry, there's still one more chapter, where we see them with everything resolved!

(And I must admit, even though I wrote it, every single time I read the one line in Luke's letter that says _'Eat the leftovers in the refrigerator,'_ I get all misty-eyed!)


	8. A Thanksgiving of Happiness

"Say, Luke, when you get a minute, Ruthie and I are ready for some pie over here."

Luke stopped clearing Thanksgiving dinner debris from a table for a moment and turned until he could see David and Ruth Barans. The rabbi was still scraping the last of his mashed potatoes off of his plate.

"There's no rush, Luke," Ruth added, reaching over to pat her over-eager husband's shoulder affectionately. "I think we can let our main course settle for a bit before we have to have dessert."

"Getting your pie's no problem," Luke assured her. He abandoned his clean-up duties and was ready to start for the kitchen when laughter from the other side of the room drew his attention.

As usual, his eyes went straight to the laugh's originator. _Lorelai._ She stood with an arm draped lazily over Morey's shoulders, listening smugly while Babette and Miss Patty continued to cackle over whatever comment she'd just made at their table.

"Lorelai!" he called out, happy to have an excuse to make her turn and look at him.

Her head swiveled instantly, her gleaming curls swinging about her shoulders. Her mouth pursed itself into a speculative rose-shape and her eyes danced at him, making his heart beat faster. He wondered for the umpteenth time if the effect she had on him would ever stop. Her eyebrows twitched up, silently asking him what he wanted.

"Can you get them their pie?" he asked in the superior way a boss would, jutting his chin at David and Ruth.

Lorelai narrowed her eyes at him, not liking his tone. But, "Sure," she said agreeably. She patted Morey's shoulder and started across the room.

"Luke!" Ruth Barans was aghast. "After everything that poor girl's been through, you're going to make her get our pie yet, too? You should be ashamed of yourself!"

"Eh, she can handle it," he muttered, his eyes never leaving Lorelai.

"That's the story of womankind, isn't it, Ruthie?" Lorelai came to stand between the older couple, but her knowing smile was directed at Luke. "We have to be the ones strong enough to keep these guys in line."

"Plus she's already had three pieces of pie that I know of," Luke pointed out. "I'm afraid if she doesn't serve it herself you'll never get any."

"They were tiny pieces. Slivers, really," Lorelai protested. She bent down to Ruth's ear. "And there were actually five, but he doesn't need to know that." She winked and then straightened up. "What kind would you like?"

"Pecan for me," David said at once.

"Pumpkin," Ruth requested.

"Whipped cream?" Lorelai asked.

"On the pumpkin," Ruth said. "We'll switch plates halfway through, so we can taste both."

"I can bring you each a small slice of both, if you want," Lorelai offered.

"No, thanks," David said, patting his wife's knee. "It's better when we share."

"Aw, sweet!" Lorelai cooed. She scooped up their dirty plates as she headed for the kitchen. "I'll be back in a flash!"

Luke shoved everything on the table he was busing into the plastic bin with one sweep of his arm so that he could follow Lorelai into the kitchen. He sat down the bin as soon as he could and came up behind her at the counter, his now-free arms winding around her waist. He pulled her back against him, a deep sigh of satisfaction escaping when she molded herself against his chest.

"This isn't helping me with the pie duty," Lorelai pointed out practically, but her tone was teasing.

"They can wait," Luke said softly, trying to convince her of his need. "I can't." He nuzzled against her neck, finally bringing up a hand to move her hair out of the way so he could get to her skin. He kissed her neck until she closed her eyes and leaned back against his shoulder, her hand coming up to caress the side of his face.

"You are just so beautiful," he whispered into her ear. "You drive me crazy, you know that?" He shook his head at himself then, hearing what he just said. "Of course you know that. You've always loved that you drive me crazy."

She smiled, keeping her eyes closed. "No comment. I try to keep some things all mysterious."

His eyes drifted down over her lush body and followed the line of her long legs under the short denim skirt she wore, until they landed on her poor choice of footwear for the day. Bad memories flared up in an instant, killing the sweet, stolen moment of cuddling.

"I can't believe you wore those damn cowboy boots again. You know how much I hate them!" he had to growl out in protest.

She straightened and turned herself in his arms so that she was facing him, her arms now draped around his neck. "But I love them," she replied. "When I wore them here last Thanksgiving, I didn't know you associated them with that crazy woman who used to sleep out in the gazebo. But now that I do know, I figured if I wore them today, then you'd have a happy memory of them and I can wear them again without driving you bonkers." She pulled her head back and looked at him narrowly, suddenly realizing something. "Hey! You should already have a happy memory of them! Last Thanksgiving was happy!" she insisted, poking him in the chest.

He knew she had him there. "Yes, last Thanksgiving was happy," he had to admit.

Her head tilted and she smiled, looking satisfied. "At least you didn't have to kidnap me this year."

"I didn't kidnap you last year," he corrected.

"No, but you were the mastermind behind the plot." She smiled with vindication. "I was so bummed out on Thanksgiving morning, but I didn't want to admit it. Everyone had abandoned me. Rory was with Logan, Sookie had gone to Pennsylvania to see her family, and even my Mom and Dad hadn't invited me to dinner. I didn't know until later that they'd all planned it that way. All I had was a frozen pizza with a self-rising crust and Zach's _Lord of the Rings_ DVDs to look forward to." She rubbed her fingers against the collar of his shirt, remembering. "And then the phone rang."

Luke exhaled what could have been mistaken for a long-suffering sigh, but his grateful arms never loosened their hold on her. "So is this story going to be like a thing with us? Like Rory's birthday story?"

"Yes," she instantly replied, and just as quickly continued on. "I'd wanted to see you or talk to you or rip the clothes off you ever since you'd sent over the Forgiveness Pie, but we kept missing each other. Either I was asleep or you were picking up April or I was going to the doctor. When the phone rang during the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, I almost didn't answer it. I kind of had forgotten how the whole phone thing worked."

"Luckily for me you remembered," he said dryly.

"Very lucky," she agreed. "And then you warned me I was getting kidnapped in 30 minutes."

"Well, I thought that was the decent thing to do." He pushed her hair back over her shoulder, relishing the silky strands slipping through his fingers. "I didn't want you exposing everyone here to those ratty sweatpants you'd been wearing."

She giggled. "You should have seen me tearing around the house, trying to get ready before Babette and Morey came to get me. I forgot I'd even been sick. It'd been weeks since I'd had on any makeup. Getting dressed and trying to do something with my hair was a foreign concept completely. It didn't help matters that my hands were shaking the whole time, because that's how nervous I was about coming to the diner and seeing you again!"

Luke pulled her head down to his shoulder and hugged her, remembering how long those 30 minutes had been, waiting on her to arrive last year. "I was so happy to see you," he whispered, dropping a kiss on her hair along with his confession.

She pulled away, beaming at him. "I was so scared to walk through the door, though, when I finally got here. Babette finally just gave me a push. I remember I felt like everything just stopped, and then everyone yelled out 'Lorelai!' I felt like I'd stepped into _Cheers_!"

"I remember," Luke gently agreed, re-living the scene with her.

"And then I saw _you._" Lorelai's suddenly trembling smile was overlaid with tenderness. "You were standing back behind the counter, and you had on that mahogany-colored shirt, and no hat, and you looked _so_ good. So handsome. So _Luke_. And you were looking at me. Just me. And you were smiling. And your eyes…" Lorelai's fingers reached up to lightly trace around the creases of his eyes, but her voice gave out. She bit her lips, her shoulders rising slightly to convey her inability to give words to the emotion she remembered.

"Do you want to know what I was thinking?" Luke asked gruffly.

She nodded, and he bent down slightly, on course for her mouth. "This," he whispered, pulling gently against her lips. "I wanted this."

"Um," she said, a noise of agreement, kissing him back wholeheartedly.

His hand slid up her spine and hers slid down to his belt as he pushed her with well-practiced tenderness back against the counter. Their hearts thumped against each other as their bodies instantly went into the rhythm they knew as well as breathing. Lorelai's hip dislodged the serving spatula stuck into the pecan pie and it clattered to the floor, making them disconnect in confusion.

"I…uh, I should…" Lorelai waved her hand at the pie, while trying to catch her breath.

"Yeah." Luke sucked in a breath of his own. "This isn't what we should be doing here."

"Right." Lorelai nodded. "We'll continue our Happy Thanksgiving story later. Pie first."

"Pie first," Luke agreed but without enthusiasm. He tried not to stagger as he made his way over to the sink. He stuck his hands under the cold water, hoping that would be enough distraction to get him back into Diner Guy mode.

Lorelai came right over beside him. "I should wash my hands, too." Her hip bumped into his.

He pushed her an arm's length away. "Give me a break here," he pleaded. "Wait your turn."

"That's what I should have told you a year ago," she said smugly.

He chuckled in spite of himself, shaking his head. "I love you," he said simply. He grabbed a towel to wipe his hands.

"I love you, too," she reminded him, keeping her distance, but giving him such a sultry smile that it didn't matter.

"You are something else," he sighed, and headed back to the floor.

"But I'm _your_ something else!" he heard her say.

_Thank God_, he thought, which made his face light up in such happiness that everyone in the diner could see it.

* * *

The pale sunshine from the late Thanksgiving afternoon was starting to light up the far walls in the diner. The tryptophan from the turkey was lulling most of the patrons into a stupor. Everyone had eaten their fill, and although a euchre game had been started in one corner, no one was paying much attention to it. A few groups were still chatting, but the prevailing feeling was that this Thanksgiving at Luke's Diner was drawing to a close.

Suddenly, a soft squealing noise was heard.

"Lorelai!" Kirk shrieked at once, sounding terrified. It had been his job to sit at the counter, the monitor at his elbow.

"Inside voice, Kirk," Lulu reminded him, ever-gentle.

The soft squealing turned into more of a wail.

A dozen pair of feet landed on the wooden floor at the same time.

"I'll go!" at least six voices volunteered, among them Miss Patty, Babette, Andrew, and most surprisingly of all, Taylor Doose.

"Sorry, I've got dibs!" Lorelai chortled, making a beeline for the stairs.

Luke cut her off. "I can go."

She sidestepped him neatly. "You still need to finish down here."

"It can wait," he explained, not giving way.

"She'll be hungry," she warned, and employed a half-skipping step that saw her diving through the curtain first.

Luke stayed right on the heels of her cowboy boots. The tiny, pathetic sobs coming from the open door to his old apartment bounced throughout the stairwell, each one threatening to rip his heart out of his chest.

Lorelai dove into the room and leaned over into the portable crib set up there. "Hey, Leila," she crooned, bending over far enough to rub her hand against the baby's heaving chest. "Hi, Pretty Girl."

The baby instantly turned her face at her mother's voice, her mouth puckering as she searched for what she wanted. Not finding it, she flailed her tiny fists and let loose another round of discontented wails.

"Hang on, hang on," Lorelai muttered, trying to bend over far enough to scoop the baby up. The railing bit into her ribs, however, and she straightened up with a grimace, rubbing her side.

"I'll get her," Luke said quietly. "Go sit."

Lorelai headed to the couch and Luke expertly extricated his daughter from the crib. "Hi, Sweetheart," he murmured against her damp curls. She butted her head into his chest, somewhat soothed by her father's presence, but still angry at not finding what she truly wanted.

Lorelai had yanked up her sweater and was ready to go when Luke transferred Leila into her arms. He watched as Leila latched on, her eyes rolling back in ecstasy as she got her first hit of milk.

"Junkie," he commented, shaking his head. "Like mother, like daughter."

"Mmm, coffee," Lorelai breathed out in remembrance. "Someday, little one, Mommy's going to fill the bathtub with coffee. And then I'll have to figure out if I'm going to drink it or bathe in it."

Luke shut the door and then shook out a blanket that had been folded at the end of the couch. "Do you want these off?" he asked, tapping against the boots.

"Yes, please," she nodded.

He pulled them off of her feet, then raised her legs up onto the couch. He spread the blanket over her, then sat down beside her, pulling her back to rest against him. He angled himself a little sideways, his arm trailing against the back of the couch behind Lorelai. He could look over her shoulder and watch Leila's bright blue eyes studying everything that was going on as she sucked down her dinner. Her fingers fisted into Lorelai's sweater, hanging on. She caught his gaze and smiled at him for a second before latching back on with even more determination.

"You're distracting," Lorelai murmured. "A lesson I learned long, long ago."

"_I'm_ distracting?" Luke disputed, but softly. "Should I remind you about that tiny little black skirt you used to wear when Rory was about 14? Or those jeans you had on the night I drove you to the hospital when your dad got sick? Or that one blue sweater?"

Lorelai chuckled and Leila squinted up at her in disapproval.

"Sorry, sorry," Lorelai said placatingly. She snuggled back onto Luke more solidly. "Last Thanksgiving we were up here, too."

"You came up here to take a nap," he remembered.

"Yeah, eating dinner wore me out," she said, as lightly as she could, trying not to dwell on how weak she'd still been a year ago. He could feel her head swiveling as far as it could, studying this space that was now nothing more than a place for Leila to nap. "It was a shock to my system, being up here again. Alone. Seeing the changes you'd made up here without me. It hurt," she admitted, the waver back in her voice that he well-remembered from a year ago.

"Sorry," he whispered. He rubbed his chin against her hair, breathing in the sweet scent of her shampoo. "I wasn't ready to let you go yet, last Thanksgiving, after you ate dinner. I wanted you to stay so we could talk and fix us. I didn't want another day to go by and us still be in limbo."

"I didn't either."

He closed his eyes, remembering the rest of the conversation they'd had when he finally found her awake on his third trip up to check on her. "And then you hit me with your crazy accusations about me feeling obligated to be with you."

"It wasn't crazy," she refuted him sharply, making Leila desist for a moment and frown. "It wasn't crazy," she repeated, softer, stroking the baby's fine, dark curls. "You blew up and ranted to me about your aversion to the cowboy boots, because I was wearing them the night you saw me using the gazebo as my bedroom. I already knew you'd been to the hospital on my worst day. It wasn't a leap for me to think that you'd made some sort of deal with God to try and make me better. I didn't want you to think you had to live up to it."

'I wrote you the letter," he pointed out.

"Possibly under duress," she countered. "It was possible you felt like you had no choice because of the promises you'd made."

"Not true," he protested fiercely, forgetting for a minute that this argument had already been waged and won a year ago. He pulled in a deep breath, bringing himself back to the present where his wife rested in his arms and their daughter regarded him curiously with those blue eyes closer to his own hue than her mother's. "Luckily I had an ace up my sleeve to convince you."

"That you did." He felt her relax against him; felt her chuckle a little bit again. "Who knew that Luke Danes had a crafty side to him?"

He grinned at her teasing. "I don't know that taping a few pictures down qualifies me as crafty."

"It was beautifully done," she affirmed. "And you made the Lorelai page not knowing if you'd ever get a chance to show it to me or not."

"No, I knew I was going to show you sometime. I just didn't know how long it would be before I had the opportunity."

"And then you turned the page," Lorelai reminisced. "And there was the post-it from your bread guy. With just two words on it: 'Our Wedding.'"

Luke brought his hand up to her shoulder, rubbing it tenderly. "Not a blank page anymore. It's filled with pictures now."

Lorelai nodded, but continued down memory lane. "You weren't done, though. You turned to the next page. 'Our Babies,' it said. And then you tripped all over yourself, saying how it was OK if that didn't happen; we could just put pictures of Paul Anka there, or of our grandbabies."

Luke put his mouth close to her ear. "And then you attacked me," he said smugly.

"I might have made the first move," Lorelai admitted, shifting against him, "but I recall the attacking being a mutual thing."

"Well, the _mutual attacking_ went on for a while, but then you pushed me away and sat up and said you needed to go home," Luke recalled, once again feeling the despair that hit his stomach when she seemed to have changed her mind.

"You begged me to stay," Lorelai bragged.

"But you said you had to go home, because Paul Anka had been alone all day."

"And you were very stoic," Lorelai complimented him. "You said you understood. But then I explained that I thought you should come home, too."

He closed his eyes, smiling, holding her close. "I grabbed the duffel bag out from under the bed and started packing before you could change your mind."

"I wasn't going to change my mind. I helped you pack, remember?" Lorelai pushed her finger into Leila's mouth, prying her away. She shifted her to the other side. "I couldn't figure out what you had to get out of the safe, though. I didn't know it was the Lorelai box."

"I wanted to make sure I took the things most important to me, because I didn't want to come back here unless I had to."

"You gave me the scrapbook to carry."

"Like I said, I took the most important things." He stroked Lorelai's shoulder and watched Leila eat again. "Then we were alone at the house and suddenly I wasn't sure what to do. As usual, we jumped in without a plan."

"You were very gallant," Lorelai observed. "You offered to sleep down on the couch. But once I got you home there was no way I was going to let you out of my sight."

Luke took a shaky breath and wrapped his arms around her, trying not to dislodge Leila. "It felt so good to hold you again. Once we were in bed, I just couldn't get you close enough to me. I didn't want to ever let go."

"But you did," she pointed out. "Next thing I knew, you were sitting up, taking off your shirt."

"I got hot," he explained, grinning.

"Then my top was off."

"Thought you might have been hot, too."

"So solicitous of you," she commented wryly. "Then I told you that I was all for whatever was going to happen next, but I didn't have the strength yet to offer much assistance."

"I told you that was fine," he bent his head and whispered huskily into her ear. "I told you I'd take good care of you. I promised I'd take care of you for the rest of your life, if you'd let me."

She leaned her head back and moaned as he kissed whatever he could reach. Leila's tiny but sharp fingernails bit into her tender skin and she jerked back upright. "Sorry, baby. I'm back," she sighed.

They were quiet for a few minutes, both of them watching their baby daughter with fascination.

Lorelai, of course, couldn't stay quiet for long. "After you fell asleep, I laid awake and fretted. I worried about what Rory would say when she came home and found you there. I worried that it was going to be all weird. I worried that we really hadn't banished the demons lurking between us." Her shoulders gave a slight shrug. "But then the morning came, we made love again, you made me pancakes, and it felt like nothing had ever changed. It felt so right to have you there. When Rory got home she was relieved to find out you'd moved in. In fact, everyone was thrilled. It turned out we had a lot of fans."

"That we do," he agreed.

"Paul Anka wouldn't leave your side," she added.

Luke chuckled. "He tried to jump into the truck with me, remember? We had to bribe him with a leftover pancake to get him back in the house."

"Yeah. Who knew he'd been pining for you?"

They were both quiet as they recalled those first weeks of becoming a couple again. In some ways it had been easier than they'd ever expected. In some ways, it was the hardest thing they'd ever done. But they'd added some skills to their repertoire. Skills like talking and listening and discussing fears before they blew up in their faces. And when the talking didn't work, another form of communication did. Rory Gilmore was no longer the only writer in the family - she was just the only published one.

Soon Luke cleared his throat as a recollected anxiety filled him up. "And then you got sick again."

Lorelai leaned back against him, giggling. "We were such idiots."

His stern voice let her know he didn't find it amusing in the least. "Lorelai, I was scared to death. They couldn't figure out why you weren't getting better."

"But I was better!" she insisted. "Except for when I was in the bathroom throwing up, I felt great! And finally, one day Dr. Allison had apparently gotten her gossip quota filled, and she looked at me over the tops of her glasses and said, 'Lorelai, should we do a pregnancy test?'" Lorelai giggled again, shaking her head at her cluelessness. "Suddenly, it all made sense."

"We were just lucky," Luke said somberly. "You were not in any way healthy enough to be pregnant." He'd been consumed with worry for the whole nine months.

"I was fine," Lorelai said stubbornly. "You made me tons of good stuff to eat and made sure I took all of my vitamins, and look what we got! Look at our healthy baby girl! Look at the pretty baby! Yes, look at our pretty Leila!" Her voice had pitched into baby talk by the end, and Leila beamed back at her.

"Is she done?" Luke asked.

"Yep, she seems to have lost interest," Lorelai confirmed. She put a cloth up over her shoulder and balanced Leila there, patting her back.

The baby grinned toothlessly at her daddy, even as a mighty burp shook her body.

"Good one," Luke commented. He took the baby and went over to his old bed that now served as a changing table, letting Lorelai have time to get herself put back together. He pulled off Leila's sleeper and had a fresh diaper on her in no time. She kicked her legs, delighted at being unfettered, and chewed on her fist.

Lorelai came over and went through the diaper bag, pulling out some cranberry-colored pants and a long-sleeved onesie with a smiling turkey appliquéd onto it.

"This kid has more clothes than a Barbie doll," Luke complained.

"They're cute, Babe. They're little, and they're cute, and everyone loves having an excuse to shop in the baby department." Lorelai carefully but efficiently pulled the top over Leila's head and started trying to thread her arms through the sleeves.

"It sets a bad precedent," Luke continued. "She'll be a teenager and still think she needs to change clothes twelve times a day."

Lorelai snorted. "Then she'll be just like every other teenager."

He put his hand on Lorelai's back and bent over, letting his other hand caress his little girl's head. The baby instantly turned her head, trying to get her mouth on her father's hand.

Lorelai suddenly straightened up and turned to face him. "Luke," she started, and then swallowed hard.

"What?" he asked nervously, sensing the seriousness in her.

"It's just…I want you to know. I'm so happy." She twisted her hands together, her thumb rubbing over her rings. "Having Rory was great, you know? I loved being Rory's mom so much, but most of the time I was terrified." She pulled his face to hers and kissed him gently. "This time, with Leila…I'm just happy. You're her Daddy, and we're doing this together, and…I'm just so happy."

He squeezed her so tightly he was worried she couldn't breathe, but he couldn't let go. Not yet. "I'm glad," he managed to choke out in a whisper. "I'm happy, too."

They parted and Lorelai laughed a little breathlessly, her extra-bright eyes giving away the fact that she was close to tears. "I know that next week we'll be even happier, when Rory comes home to visit, and April will be back from her grandma's, and we'll have them and Jess and Liz and T.J. and Doula and my parents to our house, but this…This is pretty damn good."

Luke anchored his arm around his wife as they gazed down on their little girl, kicking her legs in her bright cranberry pants.

"It is pretty damn good," he agreed.

They brought Leila downstairs and passed her around, letting all of her honorary Stars Hollow aunts and uncles and grandparents have a share of her, while they scurried around and finished cleaning up the last of the Thanksgiving feast.

Finally the last straggler ― Kirk, of course ― went out the door, and it was just the three of them.

"Time to go home, little girl," Lorelai crooned, tucking her into her carrier and snapping the quilted covering over it.

"Do you want me to bring home some pie?" Luke asked, just before he turned off the lights in the kitchen.

"Seriously? You are seriously asking me that question?"

"You're right. Don't know what I was thinking," he muttered, resigned, as he added two pans of leftover pie to the box of things he was taking home.

Luke double-checked that all of the appliances were turned off and that the front door was locked. He flicked off the light and put the diaper bag over his shoulder before he picked up the big cardboard box. Lorelai put Leila's carrier over her arm and they trooped to the back door.

It wasn't that late, but the short November day had turned swiftly into night, and it was as dark as if it was midnight. The day had been clear, and the night was too, the moon and stars shining overhead. The clear skies had made it easy for frost to lightly coat over the truck's windows.

Luke stopped, staring at the frost on the windowpane. "Do you remember?" he asked, his voice coming out hoarse.

"I remember," Lorelai said.

Last year when they'd stepped outside and loaded the truck with his stuff, ready to go home together for the first time again, he'd been flabbergasted to see _LG + LD_ embossed by frost onto the truck's window. Lorelai had then told him how she'd written it there the night she'd dropped off the scrapbook. The moonlight on that night a year ago had illuminated it again. He'd tried, embarrassingly enough, not to scrape that part of the window all winter. A lost cause, of course, considering how much snow and ice they'd received.

"Go ahead. Do it," Lorelai urged him, her voice filled with mischief, reminding him of his mother that day long ago up at the cabin, when he and Lizzie dove off the pier.

He smiled lovingly at her and sat down the box. He pulled off his glove and stood next to the truck, his finger poised over the glass. Then he frowned. "I just realized we all have the same initials," he said.

"Here. I know!" Lorelai handed the baby off to him, whipping off her own glove. In no time she wrote '_Luke + Lorelai = Leila'_ in the delicate frost. She looped a heart around it all, and then turned to him, grinning with pleasure.

"Can't argue with that," he said approvingly, leaning forward to kiss her forehead.

He opened the door and fixed Leila's carrier into the car seat base. There was just enough room in the old truck for the three of them. It was cramped, but they could make it work. Lorelai went around to get in the other side while he put the box of food into the bed of the pickup.

The truck rumbled into life and once the windshield wipers had cleared off the front, they started driving the short distance to their home. He left his hand on the gearshift knob, and soon Lorelai's hand was covering his there. He glanced over, meeting her eyes.

"You know what? We should work on the scrapbook tonight," he suggested.

She smiled, squeezing his hand, and even in the dark he could see the delight in her eyes.

"That's a great idea," she agreed.

And Leila, bundled up in-between them, gurgled her approval, too.

* * *

**Final Notes from the Author:** This story was almost never written. I was afraid it would be too melodramatic and just too sad to draw people into it. However, it was in my head so strongly that the day came when I had no choice but to write it. Since then, it's become one of my favorites, mainly because it allowed itself to be written exactly the way I had felt it in my imagination. Sometimes it's so hard to find the right combination of words to replicate the emotions you want readers to feel while going through the story, but this time everything fell into place just the way I had imagined. So although it's a sad story, it still holds happiness for me when I remember the pleasure of writing it.

I'm pretty much amazed at the number of readers for this story. Thanks for taking the chance and reading through the sadness. I appreciate your support so much. Feel free to drop me a line if you want to discuss anything from the story, or even anything remotely Gilmore Girls-inspired! Thanks again to you all!


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